Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier
by KPRS Splicer
Summary: Kim Possible spliced into Star Trek. Commander Kim Possible has just joined the USS Jackal, one of the first deep-space tactical vessels sent to the Gamma Quadrant to protect the new Federation and Bajoran colonies. However, a simple rendezvous turns into a nightmare, as they stumble upon a forgotten enemy that threatens to destroy everything.
1. Teaser

_A/N: Hey Guys. This is KP Splicer here. Sorry about remaining inactive for a while. I just got caught up in a whole lot of Star Trek Fanfiction. This has led me to this series that I am writing, a series that will put my pen-name to the test. A Splice of KP and Star Trek. Now that sounds like a challenge._

 _For all you Trek Fans out there, I will warn you about reading this. This will not be the Federation or Starfleet that we all know and love. Personally, I have always found them to be a little too weak. They rely on too much luck and deus-ex-machina resolutions (See Star Trek DS9 S6S6 Sacrifice of Angels for one example). So my Starfleet will be a little tougher with a little less emphasis on Battleships and Heavy Cruisers. Also, no more Redshirts. Still, though I plan to make this radical change in history a focal point. I hope you can find it._

 _Please note that I am attempting Prose Writing. That means this "episode" will each have a teaser, followed by five acts. I hope you enjoy them. Because of the scale of my new project, I'm afraid I will taking a break to my previous work "Peace in Our Time" for a while. My muse has completely pulled me over to this new series. I will finish the story eventually, so please be patient with me._

 _Now for the legal BS. I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek Franchise. If I did, KP would have four more seasons for college years and TNG would have included the Dominion War._

 _With that laundry list out of the way, on with the story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier (Teaser)_**

 _By: KPRS Splicer_

Earth Date: January 10, 2155 (Stardate 21254.56)

Harrad-Saar was desperate.

He needed to escape from the coming storm. The same storm that swept through the Borderland, wiping away all vestiges of his beloved Syndicate. In all his years, he would have never believed that the Orion Syndicate, enduring for almost a thousand years, would be crushed aside by such an upstart opponent.

But he had come to expect no less from Humans.

He was still mystified as to how powerful they had become over such a short period of time; although, in hindsight, his skirmish against Archer showed the old pirate-slave how dangerous and unpredictable a human ship could be. Even with the subterfuge of his mistress Navaar, he was still brutally repulsed. It didn't matter that she and her sisters had managed to seduce and manipulate the entire crew, including Archer, sabotage the engines, and disable the defensive systems.

It didn't really matter when three Terran ships of their newly commissioned First Fleet arrived to support Enterprise. He already lost. That damn feedback loop crippled his entire ship, making him in all terms, "dead in the water." That wasn't the worst part.

They gave him back his "slaves."

It was stupid really, to think that he would be finally free of their damn pheromones, or siren calls as he referred to them. He was all ready to strike out on his own as a free man. His ship, though damaged, could be repaired, and he could venture out and do whatever his avaricious heart desired. It seemed Archer had different plans. He would never forgive him for that.

Still, that was rendered moot for now. He was running, fleeing from a revitalized and relentless Starfleet. Shortly after his failed attempt to capture Archer, he and his kind received a message. The Orion Syndicate had become a clear and present danger to the security of Earth and her people and must be thoroughly and effectively removed. That was the communiqué that was broadcasted throughout the entire Borderland.

Harrad-Sar thought that was nice of the humans to warn the Syndicate of the pending invasion. It gave him and his fellow Orionisi a chance to mobilize their interceptors and prepare for combat and the spoils of war. They thought the humans weak. The Klingons called them honorless pa'tak. Even the now defunct Vulcan High Command saw the humans merely as children, naïve and unready to take a stand in the galactic community. The "war" would be quick. The humans would be crushed, and slaves and contraband would be pumped into the veins of the Syndicate.

Indeed, it was quick, but not the way they expected.

Harrad-Sar knew it was due to that damn Xindi Probe. It had to just appear out of nowhere and cut a deadly swath throughout the California coastal belt, wiping out 20 million humans and the entire Starfleet headquarters. At first, he thought that would be the end of Starfleet altogether. He thought the human analogy of "cutting the head off the snake" sufficed. He was dead wrong.

Instead of subduing the humans, it just enraged them. Backed by the support of the fervor of the people, a new Starfleet emerged under a new crop of admirals. Men like Jefferies, Casey, and Harris turned Starfleet from an exploration agency into a military organization with cruisers, battleships and carriers leading the defense of Earth. Even Arik Soong was paroled to help the development of a new type of stellar marine.

The Xindi never fully realized what kind of giant, or monster to some species, they awoken. When the final weapon appeared two-thousand kilometers from Earth, it was met by the largest human fleet ever assembled, bristling with state of the art weaponry and marines capable of tearing apart a Xindi with their bare hands. They didn't stand a chance.

Now, their security was threatened again. Not by some trans-dimensional power off in the Delphic Expanse. Not by some racist Vulcan fascist regime. Not by some drone that had attempted to destabilize the region. And certainly not by some Klingon Augment experiment gone wrong. But by them.

The Orion Syndicate.

The results were deadly. The humans attacked with ferocity and determination. They fought knowing that every interceptor destroyed was one that could no longer place defenseless men and women into slavery. They fought until ever single slave planet was liberated and their Orinisi masters were sorely punished.

Harrad-Sar should've seen it, should have planned for it, if not for the annoying and distracting pheromones of Navaar. She always believed that her guile, charm, and chemistry could get her out any situation. When her skills were eventually found wanting, she looked at Harrad-Sar as if it was his fault. She gave him that same look when Starfleet penetrated their rough and disorganized defensive line and scattered the interceptors across the winds. He hated that look.

Now he was being chased by Starfleet, now with the assistance of their new Coalition allies across the sector. His ship, though bulky, was still fast enough to evade and hide from Coalition sensors. Truth be told though, they weren't trying so hard. It may have been due to the growing terrorist organization within Earth or the increase in Starfleet military preparation and coordination with her allies for the unavoidable war with the Romulan Star Empire. Regardless of the reason, it was enough to convince the higher ups within Starfleet and the Coalition that since every slave planet was liberated, the Syndicate would simply fade into obscurity.

Fools.

If only they knew that the Syndicate was more than just a few processing worlds. If only they knew that what they accomplished was only scratching the tip of the iceberg. The Syndicate was an underground operation, spread throughout all civilizations. Even Earth. So long as a criminal wishes to do business with the other, the Syndicate would endure.

Still, even criminals could read the writing on the wall. They saw how their section of space was becoming civilized, and that the Coalition would soon be spreading its wings into the Borderland, bringing peace and security to many oppressed and cheated species. They knew when it was time to pack up and move on.

Which was what Harrad-Sar was trying to do. Aboard his vessel, he had the various higher ups of the Syndicate within his ship. It just made the situation a whole lot worse for him though. Having five Orionisi females with differing opinions and ambitions really made his hormonally-tranced brain hurt. One "suggested" that he chart a course outward towards the Klingon home world to effect trade and "request" sanctuary. As soon as he got underway, another "explained" to him that it would be more prudent to "renegotiate" with the humans and to set course for Earth. Then after an hour or so along that heading, Navaar would slither up to him and "offer" her opinion to continue towards the Cardassian Union and Bajor.

It got so bad that Harrad-Sar was literally driving in circles. Normally, the Madams of the Syndicate Council never interacted with each other. They were used to their own authority within their respective spheres of influence. So when they were packed together on a ship which, in his opinion, was way too small for these Madams' ego, he figured it was only a matter of time before Starfleet caught up to him.

He almost wished they did.

Somehow though, the Madams finally realized their methods were counter-productive, and a unified consensus was achieved. The humans had developed genetically enhanced marines to resist the effect of the pheromones. The new Klingon appearance and genome somehow carried this enhancement as well. The Romulans themselves were immune, but that wasn't news. All that's left are the Cardassians.

And Bajor.

Ahh Bajor. Harrad-Sar remembers them well. A peaceful enough planet, with arts and music flowering out of her planet and many moons. A non-existent military for a non-violent people. A world that seems happy to meet new strangers and new people.

Perfect for hiding and extending the tendrils of corruption.

The paintings alone could amass a huge fortune on the black market. The lack of a military and police force would allow enforcers and slavers to run amok throughout the system, generating huge profits and spreading new fear, and with the open-doors policy, it would be so much easier to hide in plain sight. Yes, Harrad-Sar thought, Bajor was perfect.

If only they could get there fast enough.

And alive.

It seemed fate was laughing at them, though, at the present. As soon Harrad-Sar's ship dropped out of Warp, he was beset upon by one of Earth's new Talon Star-Fighter Carriers. A bulky ship, only capable of Warp 3.5, its complement of 50 Talon Fighters still made Harrad-Sar's life miserable. To make matters worse, one of the Madams was on the bridge "suggesting" courses of action. It he could control himself, he would kill her for trying to interfere with his command while under attack. She was no pilot, she had no experience dealing with these annoyingly lucky humans, and she had no place on his bridge at the moment.

It was the one time he was glad Navaar was on deck. She knew that he operated best in these sticky situations without female "assistance," and she kindly "asked" her guards to escort the Orionisi Madame off the bridge.

With his head clear of pheromone interference for a second, he turned his attention back to the viewer and his fight against the pestering Talon flies. His superior hull plating was holding and his disrupters had already disabled or destroyed a number of fighters, but he losing this battle and he knew it. He only salvation was the Badlands not far away.

He figured he had a 50-50 chance of surviving those dreaded plasma fields and eddies. His ship may be maneuverable, but it was bulky, and could easily come into contact with one of the randomly generated plasma twisters, but he had no choice.

The Badlands disrupted even the most sophisticated sensors and communication arrays. So, not only could he hide without fear of detection, but the coordination between those damn Talon fighters would be lost due to the elimination of their communication abilities. That meant that the carrier would have to recall the fighters and pursue Harrad-Sar itself.

Making a snap decision, Harrad-Sar ordered his helmsman toward the Badlands, ignoring his shock at what he perceived as a death-trap. He couldn't care less. They were dead anyway if Earth got its hand on them. When the helmsman hesitated, Harrad-Sar threw him out of his seat and directed the ship there himself. The only thing that could prevent him now was Navaar. He prayed to whatever God existed that she would not countermand his order.

She didn't.

As soon as he entered the Badlands, his sensors and navigation arrays went down. Only the viewer was still active, and even it was grainy. He was now, for all intensive purposes, flying blind. As he went further into the unstable region of space, he breathed a sigh of relief that the Talons weren't pursing him. He shut down his weapons and redirected the power to reinforce his hull plating. That should help when the inevitable vortex would try to break through his ship.

It seemed though, that luck was still on his side for the moment. He had some close calls with a few of the plasma storms, but he managed to successfully maneuver through the worst to the other side of the Badlands. He may have to repaint the hull, but that was so much preferable than losing his ship to some stellar anomaly, or worse, the humans.

The only problem was that his navigation sensors were still down, due to the plasma storm interference, and the close scraps from both the twisters and Talon phase cannons. As a result, he overshot the course towards Bajor by a huge margin and ended up in another plasma field.

When his sensors were finally restored, he realized that he was somewhere called the Denorios Belt that was exhibiting some weird neutrino emissions. Harrad-Sar realized that the neutrino disturbances could further cripple his ship, so he endeavored to navigate away from them, thus exiting the plasma field and continuing on to Bajor and a new life. At that moment however, luck turned her back on Harrad-Sar.

In the form of another Madame that entered the bridge.

After one of the neutrino distortions rocked the ship again, she became fed up with the situation and stormed straight to Harrad-Sar and "demanded" that he take them out of whatever hell-hole they were engrossed in and surrender to the Terran vessel that was still hunting them. She still believed that she could charm the captain into her new slave. Navaar, who was slowly coming to realize that Humans could resist her charm and beauty, immediately countermanded her "suggestion" and "supplied" her own. That "offer" was immediately discarded by the "proposal" of another Madame who entered the bridge, who illogically wanted to input her own opinion.

Harrad-Sar's head began to throb again as the Madams began contradicting each other once again. His body began to move in different directions as orders and counter-orders taxed his tolerance and sanity. His chemically stimulated mind became so overwhelmed that he was on the verge of passing out from the sirens that traversed his bridge. In this haze, he once again wished that the humans would find them and rescue him from these witches. He'd gladly rot away in prison if it meant his mind was his own again.

He was so overwhelmed by these hypnotists that instead of navigating his ship further away from the cluster of neutrino distortions, he was unintentionally plotting a course to the epicenter of the cluster. His bridge was in no shape to notice, because they too were being driven to pheromone-induced madness by the arguing Madams. As a result, no one, not even the Madams noticed when the heavens opened up and swallowed Harrad-Sar's ship.

It was only when the viewer began displaying flashing colors of blue and purple with white streaks of pseudo-lightning that the Madams finally ceased in their heated "debate" and realized that they were once again entrapped in yet another anomaly. At the same time, all the Madams, including Navaar, turned their eyes toward Harrad-Sar, as if accusing him for putting them in this mess.

Harrad-Sar, still reeling from the chemical overload in his head, either didn't notice or didn't care at this point. He welcomed oblivion if it meant that his head would stop pulsating with pain and desire, yet the stares continued. After a few more seconds to recover from the pheromones potency and realizing that they weren't issuing contradicting orders at the moment, Harrad-Sar looked at the viewer and blanched.

Not again.

Thankful that the Madams were staying quiet and reducing their pheromone output, Harrad-Sar began analyzing the situation once again. He was shocked to realize that the ship wasn't suffering from damage of any kind. They were even still moving, albeit at slow pace of one quarter-impulse.

Responding to the knowledge that he still possessed helm control, Harrad-Sar began the process to come about and retrace their steps to exit this disturbing, yet hypnotic area of space. As soon as he opened his mouth however, he saw an opening in front of him and immediate charged through.

They were in normal space once again.

After a hearty cheer from both the bridge crew and surprisingly the Madams, Harrad-Sar took in the situation and tried to determine their position. When his navigator called him over to his station, Harrad-Sar began to worry again. He ordered the navigator's display placed on the viewer, and he blanched again.

They were definitely far from home.

Harrad-Sar could feel the cold stares piercing through the back of his head as the Madams and Navaar began blaming him again for their situation. He wanted to slink away from their stares and hide, but he couldn't. He wished they just remove him from command and have someone else in this position, but no. He was Harrad-Sar, the miracle worker. The slave who could turn a bad deal into a profit. The slave who can navigate any hostile environment to avoid any hostile vessel.

The slave who escaped Jonathon Archer and Starfleet.

They could still be grateful about it, even reward him for his ingenuity and luck, but no, they prefer to stare coldly at him, to blame him on every piece of misfortune, to demand that he salvage the situation, as if that was expected and required of a slave. He'd be ignored, ordered into some stupid and hopeless situation, and when the stupid and hopeless situation blew up in their faces, they'd look and stare at him with both an accusation of blame and a demand for escape.

He was tired of it, had been tired of it for a long time, but he couldn't do anything about it. Until someone invented a way for Orionisi males to resist their counterparts' pheromones, they would continue to be the mistresses, and he and his gender would continue to be the slaves.

He was a slave to this situation, so he was forced to determine yet another solution. He ordered a course to be laid in back toward the opening of the weird vortex, and thankfully, it opened and once again, swallowed his ship. After the necessary minute or so of travelling at one quarter-impulse, the vortex opened again and they were back in normal space.

Harrad-Sar quickly checked the sensors once again and breathed a sigh of relief. They were back in their original area of space. In the same position as the sensors detected before. That couldn't mean? Could it?

A stable wormhole?

It was possible. According to slavers and various Syndicate businessmen whose area of operation revolved around Bajor and Cardassia, there were strange reports of a so called spatial anomaly that supposedly sucked up ships without warning. Some of their Bajoran slaves referred to the area as the Celestial Temple, home of their Sacred Prophets.

Could it be that this rumored anomaly was the same one Harrad-Sar had discovered? It was more than likely. To think, the Orion Syndicate had just discovered a stable wormhole in the Alpha Quadrant, something that those Science pukes on Vulcan or Earth could only dream about in their wettest dreams. He thought the situation hilariously ironic that an old slaver and pirate made such a huge technological discovery that Earth was completely unaware of.

That's it!

This wormhole would be the Syndicate's Salvation. The Alpha Quadrant was becoming too civilized too quickly. The edges of the map were being filled in. They were running out of places to hide. Their world was becoming smaller. And with the continuing growth and expansion of Earth and its empire, masquerading as the Coalition the Orion thought, it was only a matter of time before Human ideals and morality become common practice in the Alpha Quadrant.

But the Gamma Quadrant was ripe with opportunity. There was no Earth to impede the Syndicate. There was no grand alliance to entrap Orionisi Interceptors from making off with slaves and contraband. For the brief stint that Harrad-Sar was in the Gamma Quandrant, he detected numerous worlds, and the best part? They were all using different languages and transponders. That meant individual systems fighting or trading amongst each other. Perfect for establishing a black market or raiding trade routes for goods.

It seemed the Madams were of the same opinion. When he realized that the pheromone levels were diminishing, he turned around and noticed they were all accessing his transceiver array to make discreet calls and messages to their contacts, who would relay the messages to their contacts, and so forth. Yes, the Orion Syndicate will survive. They may not be welcomed in the Alpha Quadrant any longer, but that was moot. They would leave this "civilized" space and travel to where their skills would be appreciated. They will endure. They will prosper. And they will have their revenge.

In the Gamma Quadrant.

 _A/N: I know what you're thinking. Where's KP?! Where's Ron?! Where's Rufus?! Who cares about Harrad-Sar, Navaar and the Orion Syndicate? To answer that last one, I think a certain green-skinned villainous and her Bolian genius-slave would care about her fore-parents' history. As for the other questions, I had to set up the history of my Star Trek AU. Don't worry, Kim and the gang will be showing up in Act I, just not in the way you expected._

 _As always please leave comments or reviews. Whether about my story, grammar, or suggestions, it doesn't matter. I've become addicted to them. Stay tuned. Act I will begin soon. Two hundred years from now._

 _Until then._


	2. ACT I Part I

_A/N: And I'm back. I have to apologize. I was not happy with the way this chapter was written. At all. So I started it over, advancing the story forward a bit and have some character interaction. I'm ashamed that this happened and hope it doesn't happen again. I hope you all find this rendition "agreeable" or "fascinating" as T'Pol is fond of saying as well._

 _Thanks to Madam, CajunBear73, and lelcar for the reviews. Lelcar particularly for his insight. I hope this rendition captures your suggestion. I'd appreciate any more advice you can give. That goes for everyone. I am a very green writer and want any suggestions that will help me improve._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. If I did, then I would have made more Evil Ron Episodes and more Mirror Episodes of our favorite Terran Empire._

 _On with a renewed Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT I – PART I_**

 _Commander's Personal Log Stardate 41222.30. This will be my last log entry aboard Deep Space Nine. While I have enjoyed the hospitality of the station and its senior officers, I am eager for the arrival of my new assignment. It will not only offer me great opportunities to develop my abilities as First Officer, but also my tolerance and patience concerned with my new captain. He was insufferable during the Akira Project. Maybe now that he's in charge of his own ship, he'll mellow out a bit. Hah! Yeah right!_

-KP-RS-

Commander Kim Possible reported to Operations of Deep Space Nine for the last time.

As the main turbo lift brought the central hub of the station into view, the Commander was greeted by smiling faces from all around. During her short stay aboard the station during the interlude of her assignments, she was able to become acquainted and familiar with all senior personal aboard the station. While she made great strides toward all the senior staff, she became most familiar and close with Lieutenant Jadzia Dax.

It was Dax that Kim approached first. "Morning Jadzia."

"Well good morning to you too Kim." Dax grinned back. Kim always liked the fact that Jadzia never concerned herself about Kim's rank and the proper attitude and respect that it required. Perhaps it was due to the bond between Science and Electronic Forensics and Warfare (SEFWAR) Officers. After all, respect and camaraderie between the blue shirts was more based on skill and abilities, not rank and seniority like Command Officers. They were both equally brilliant, successful, and highly accomplished scientists and tacticians within their own departments so they viewed each other as equals, despite the rank differences.

It may also have to do with the fact that Jadzia Dax was a joined Trill, with over three hundred years of experience and prestige beneath her belt. It made someone in her position care not for rank and decorum that Starfleet unintentionally exhibits, and it suited Commander Possible just fine. With only one other Commander aboard the station who has his own personal life of a kid, kid's Ferengi-troublemaking best friend, freighter captain girlfriend, and side job of Emissary of the Prophets, Kim was actually glad the Trill was aboard. She would have been very lonely during her interlude.

"Hey Jadzia, after I make my final report to Commander Sisko, want to head over to Quark's for a last morning breakfast?" Kim asked, already knowing the answer.

Still, Dax actually had to audacity to play with her for a bit. "I don't know, I am kinda busy this morning, and besides," she leaned forward in a conspiratorial way and whispered, "I'm still trying to get Kira to join me on a date with Captain Boday. Should take all day." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"She still won't give him a chance?" Kim asked.

"Nope. But I won't give up until she does. He can be good for her. He can help her let off a little steam, if you know what I mean?" Jadzia winked at a grinning Kim.

"I'm sure you've had firsthand experience with that, haven't you?" Kim leered back.

"I admit nothing, thank you very much." Jadzia shot back, but with just a hint of a blush. Kim was tactful enough to not comment on it.

Kim smirked back and shook her head. Dax was still trying to get Kira and Boday together. While Kim herself found him charming and respectful, she didn't pursue anything beyond friendship due to differences in rank. Even his transparent skull didn't bother her. SEFWAR Officers after all respect and admire a large and strong brain. Still, Kim knew when she was being sidetracked and stirred the conversation back on course.

"You know, I can order you to join me for breakfast." Kim joked.

"Seeing as how we agreed that rank would have no standing between us, I find your argument illogical." Dax shot back with her trademark smirk.

Kim groaned in frustration. "Uhh. Please don't start with the whole logical argument. I'm going to have to spend my entire assignment listening to Captain Logic. I'd rather put off having to deal with those arguments for the time being."

"You're going to have to deal with 'Captain Logic' and 'those arguments' soon enough. You might as well practice with a friendly face. At least I won't comment on your destructive emotions."

"You know you have those emotions too. More so in fact, especially with Curzon's memories."

"Hey," Dax blanched in mock offence, "Curzon worked hard to develop those emotions. You don't get to become one of the most respectable Ambassadors to the Klingon Empire without that skill."

"I doubt Captain V'Du would see that as a skill, Jadzia. More likely he'd see it as a liability. 'Further proof of Vulcan Superiority over the lesser and undeveloped emotionally-led beings' as he would say."

"Well," Jadzia said as she put on her best contemplating expression that nearly made Kim laugh, "I guess I'd better introduce myself and show him the benefits of having an 'emotionally-led' life. I could torture him with my charms." She winked.

"You tell her Old Man." Came a deep voice from the top of Ops.

Like two young kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, they both swiveled around to the other Commander aboard the station. Commander Benjamin Sisko was observing the two SEFWAR Officers with an amused look. Kim wondered how long he been standing there.

Commander Sisko continued. "If you two ladies are done gossiping, I will see you now Commander Possible."

Kim blushed a bright red. "Sorry about that Commander, I kinda lost track of time." Kim realized that despite her equal rank with Sisko, her lack of an active command justified her reply. Besides, Kim knew that under that affable and understanding look was a serious and devoted Starfleet officer that took duty and loyalty to unprecedented levels. If anyone ever betrayed that trust, she was absolute certain they'd regret it, most likely to the bitter end.

"I'm ready when you are Commander." Kim added.

"Then let's get moving, Commander." Sisko responded, with a twinklw in his eye.

"Good luck," Jadzia whispered facetiously. Kim rolled her eyes before joining Sisko in his office.

After the doors closed behind Commander Possible, Sisko took his seat behind his main desk, with his trademark baseball sitting majestically on the side and a plethora of various PADDs surrounding the poor leader of the Federation's most prized outpost. Still, at this moment in time, his gaze and attention was focused on the slightly nervous Commander standing at near painful attention as if her life depended on it.

"For goodness sake Kim, stand at ease and take a seat before you hurt yourself." Sisko exasperated.

Kim, almost reluctantly, complied. When she first met him at the end of her previous assignment, she nearly gasped in astonishment at the relaxed reception she received from Commander Sisko during her first report. She was a SEFWAR Officer in-between assignments, while he was a Command Officer of DS9 and quickly becoming legend throughout the Quadrant for his tactful strong-arm diplomacy. To be addressed as equals was something short of amazement. She still hadn't gotten used to it.

"Kim, how many more times am I going to have to ask you to call me Benjamin while aboard my station?" Sisko inquired his guest.

"At least once more sir." Kim crisply replied.

"Well, seeing as how this is your last day here, I guess that's all I'm going to get." Sisko half-muttered to himself.

Kim was barely capable of suppressing a grin at that quip. She knew she could be free to express herself around the commander if she wished, and she so wanted to, but unfortunately growing up with less-than-supportful parents and an ever demanding "food chain" had imprinted a sense of subservience within her psyche, something that while non-existent around friends, equals, and subordinates, was painfully obvious to anyone she considered her superior. She wondered how Sisko would respond to that knowledge. Unfortunately, the resulting mental image proved too much, and she did crack a smile, something that Sisko immediately grasped.

"Gotcha! I knew that you could smile around me. You shouldn't be afraid to show that side to me. I actually kind of prefer it to this stiff Starfleet Officer I normally greet." Sisko was almost beaming with pride at his accomplishment.

"Are you serious…B-Benjamin?" The word sounded foreign, but pleasing to the SEFWAR Officer.

At the hearing of his own name, his smile threatened to rival that of a Denobulan's. "You damn right I do. Most Starfleet Captains would agree with me. Stiff and professional are good during a combat situation, Kim, but Captains need an XO who they can talk to and bounce ideas off of, not just another yes man, or in your case, woman." Sisko added.

She had heard it all before, mostly from her old CO aboard the _USS Majestic_ , but hearing it from a larger than life figure of Benjamin Sisko, who, damn him, had a reassuring smile on his face, increased the validity of the observation. Because of this, she was able to grace Sisko with an accepting smile that seemed to light up the room.

"Now that's more like it. Pretty soon you'll be able to do the same to that 'Captain Logic' I overheard."

At the mention of her future XO's unofficial nickname, Kim's fledging smile vanished and was replaced by a look of apprehension. "Somehow, I doubt that Captain V'Du would appreciate my opinion regarding ship and personnel operations."

"He's going to have to if he wants to run an effective ship. A captain can't handle everything himself, even a Vulcan, and as a Starfleet Officer, you're going to have to remind him of that every day."

"I understand, Benjamin, but it will be difficult." Kim meekly replied.

Sisko must have recognized the knowing look on her face and sound in her voice due to his next question. "Are you more familiar with the Captain than what is recorded in the personnel files?"

Kim paused for a moment. _Should I answer that? Will he think of me less for it? I sure do. V'Du sure does. Ahhh! Come on Kim, pull yourself together! He's here to help. Tell him. Maybe he can offer more advice._ Realizing that Sisko was looking more concerned by the minute, she took a leap of faith. "Yes Benjamin. We go as far back as the Academy, and it was not a pleasant experience."

She then proceeded to tell Sisko of how she was first paired with a Red Squad Cadet named V'Du as part of the standard mentoring program. Kim then proceeded to inform him how instead of offering advice, expertise, and assistance with her classes, assignments, and exercises, he would spend every waking moment criticizing her emotionally driven mind and reckless human attitude while systematically downplaying her achievements and successes to the probability equivalent of luck. She explained that by time V'Du graduated from the Academy, Kim had suffered almost two years of emotional and psychological damage to her confidence. Kim's face was ashen when she told Sisko that she herself barely graduated as a Command Officer in Piloting.

While she was explaining her history, Kim noticed that Sisko's face was becoming darker and his expression more grim and fiery with every word. When she finished, she noticed the barely contained fury in his deceptively calm voice. "Why didn't you report him to the Academy Disciplinary Board (ADB)?"

Kim shook her head in resignation. "And what would happen? He was their 'Top Cadet' and 'Top Graduate.' They would never believe the word of an academic-borderline and isolated cadet to that amount of prestige and honor. Besides," she added, "you know as well as I do that it's almost religiously required for senior cadets to pressure and haze the freshman and junior cadets. You know, to 'build character.'

"If I went to the ADB, they would've thought I was just another weak and useless cadet who couldn't take what they saw as constructive criticism. Knowing my luck, _I_ would have most likely been kicked out of the Academy for attempted slander against one of their most successful and respectful graduates."

Kim felt emotionally drained after finally revealing the difficulties she faced at the Academy, so she was grateful, yet surprised, when Sisko's hands were placed on her shoulders in a soothing and reassuring gesture, almost as if in understanding. "I can see how that reasoning could be accepted from your point of view Kim, but know this: the ADB would have investigated your report in full seriousness. That's what they're there for after all. If they detected any foul play from V'Du, they would have expelled him from the Academy and offered their fullest apologies to you for allowing that behavior to go around unpunished.

"Furthermore, now that this has been brought to my attention, I would like to pass this along to Starfleet Internal Affairs for investigation." Kim was then filled with shock and horror at that announcement. It must have shown, because he quickly added, "With your permission of course; otherwise, this will remain confidential."

Kim initial instinct was to refuse that offer. Despite what Sisko said otherwise, Kim was still adamant that she did act weak and brittle when she considered going before the ADB. She spent the next 15 years meticulously building an iron-skin towards criticism and constructing the militant and professional façade that she showed towards her superior officers. She was a firm believer of junior hazing, though she never applied that philosophy towards her own subordinates. It was the Order of Things. Who was she to challenge that?

The reason was for hesitation however was for a different reason. "Commander, I'm confused. Why would want to investigate something that happened over 15 years ago? The damage has been done and I've moved on from it, what is there to be done?"

Sisko removed his hands from her shoulders and crossed his arms while leaning back on the table. "Because from what I've seen, there is still some lingering damage. For instance, the way you subconsciously went back to addressing me as 'Commander' or 'sir.' He needs to be held accountable for what he's done.

"Also, based on what you've told me, it sounds like V'Du's conceptions of Vulcan superiority may not just have been limited to you. Who knows how many junior officers he's damaged throughout his career? How many officers or crewmen have resigned or quit do to his cutting remarks and snide comments? No Kim, I'm not doing this just for you, but for all the other officers or field-training cadets who had the misfortune to be placed under his command."

At that perspective, Kim realized that this was much bigger than her own personal problems. Now she was worried about the moral-state of her new assignment. They were going to a hostile frontier in the Gamma Quadrant, a situation that required every crewman, officer, and marine to be at their best, but with someone like V'Du as the captain, someone who took every waking moment to point out non-existent emotional fallacies due to a racist attitude, they would be more at risk from themselves rather than from the outside.

She knew her answer.

"Very well Commander…Benjamin. I accept your offer. Not for myself, but for my crew. We need a Captain that the crew can look up to and fight their hardest for. Based on my experiences, that isn't V'Du of Vulcan."

Sisko nodded solemnly, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. "Very well Kim. I pass along the information to Internal Affairs. I'll make sure they keep it discreet and keep your name out of it, but in the mean time, you are going to have take care of the _Jackal_ and its crew during the investigation. That means being an insulator for V'Du's arrogance. While it will undoubtedly strain your impressive professional façade, it will inspire confidence for the crew, as well as their loyalty towards you. It will help you should you have to make _that_ difficult decision."

Kim knew exactly what Sisko was talking about. It was the word that all Captains feared, a word that not only puts them in extreme danger from their very own crew, but also shows just how ineffective they are as a Captain. Kim was again shocked that Sisko would even suggest such an action.

"I don't have to remind you how important the _USS Jackal_ is to Starfleet, do I?" Sisko asked in dead seriousness.

He didn't have to. Kim knew the _Jackal_ was the first-in-line for a new deep space tactical vessel that takes full advantage of the _Akira_ -Class Hull. Created specifically for the Gamma Quadrant and the Borg, the _Jackal_ will hopefully be the first of many vessels to stand alongside her already proven _Defiant_ -Class sisters of a modern Re-militarized Starfleet. Wolf 359 would never happen again.

But Kim recognized that all depended on the crew capability of the _Jackal_. She would set precedent for all future vessels along her registry, and if the _Jackal's_ crew were being hindered and restricted by an inflexible and sadistic Captain, it could jeopardize the whole project and the very success of Starfleet to adequately address and defend the Federation. Yes, Kim knew what was expected of her.

"No sir." Kim replied, now back to full attention.

Sisko nodded, confident that his message was acknowledged. "If I remember from earlier, you said that you graduated as a Command Officer. A pilot, yes? Yet I clearly see you in SEFWAR blue. I'm assuming that's a good story?"

Thankful for the change in topic, Kim relaxed and even let loose a warm smile in fond of those memories. "Indeed it is Ben, and it's all thanks to a gruff Andorian named They'lik Barkin."

Kim was glad that she was able to surprise Sisko if his widen eyes were anything to go by. "You mean the same Barkin who is now Theatre Commander for the entire Gamma Quadrant?"

Kim smirked, "the one and the same. Although at the time, he was merely Captain of the _Majestic_ , one of the old _Miranda_ -Classes."

Sisko, now back behind his desk, leaned back in his chair with awe. "Wow, and he was the one who saw your true potential in Science and Technology?"

"Yup. He noticed how I preferred to be behind the survey console instead of the helm of a shuttlecraft, or how I preferred generating photonic and phaser trajectory patterns instead of flight paths for my Talon Fighter wing."

"I bet they thought you were wearing the wrong uniform." Sisko joked.

"It actually got that bad. I knew the name of every officer and crewmen within the SEFWAR Department of the _Majestic_ , yet not a single pilot or other Command Officer." Kim laughed.

"So when did our illustrious Theatre-Commander decided to make the switch official?" Sisko smirked.

"After I beat his Chief Science Officer, a Vulcan sixty years my senior ironically, at Kal-Toh." Kim smirked back. "After that, he finally decided that my talents would be put to better use, so he promoted me and transferred me to the department."

"He always could sense potential a light-year away. Must be those antennae."

"I'll be sure to let him know you're on to him, Benjamin." Kim noted Sisko's gawked expression and instantly lost it and laughed uncontrollably for a minute.

They spent the next thirty minutes reminiscing about old times at junior crewmen. Lieutenant Dax even joined them when she realized that her breakfast date was missing. It was pleasantly shocking to all three of them how similar the path of their careers took and the lessons they learned from it. They were on their fifth story when Major Kira COMMed.

"Yes Major, what can we do for you," Sisko asked with a smile amidst the laughter.

"Sorry to disturb you Commander, but I have a PRIORITY Message from the _USS Jackal_. They're _demanding_ that Commander Possible report to the hanger bay for transportation aboard." Kim could hear the anger in Kira's voice at the message.

Sisko seemed to be of similar opinion based on his response. "Thank you Major. Inform the _Jackal_ that station protocol dictates that all Starfleet vessels must dock to transfer personnel. Also, inform the Captain that he is to personally great his new XO at the docking port as per Starfleet Regulation 365.25a."

"Understood sir, Kira out." Kim could almost hear the evil smirk in her voice.

"Ladies, shall we join the rest of the crew at Ops?" Commander Sisko asked as he rose for the door.

Joining them at Ops, Kim overheard the _Jackal_ acknowledging the command. "Major, which docking ring are they cleared for?"

Kira looked at the console. "Docking Ring 3 Commander Possible."

Nodding, she then asked, "Would you display that port on the view-screen, please?"

"Of course Commander."

As all heads in Ops now turned toward the empty screen, they all watched in pride as Starfleet's new modern warship decloaked and docked at the ring with accurate precision. She couldn't attest for the rest of the station crew, but Kim always loved watching Starfleet ships decloaking. It gave her a sense of nationalistic pride at how the fledgling Federation defeated the Romulan Star Empire in their first war, forcing them to surrender their precious cloaking technology as part of the Treaty of Algeron.

"It always warms my heart to see a new Starfleet ship decloak." Chief Miles O'Brien commented.

"Especially if you get to tinker and mess around with the cloaking device on the first of its class." Jadzia added, wiggling her eyebrows at the Jackal's new XO and Chief SEWAR Officer.

"Indeed." Kim shot back. "Indeed."

"Sir," Major Kira addressed Sisko, "the Jackal has completed docking procedures and Captain V'Du is again _demanding_ that you greet him at the docking port."

Sisko rolled his eyes and turned towards Kim and Dax. "There he goes on demanding again. Well Commander Possible, shall we greet his Excellency?" Kim rolled her own eyes and nodded. Sisko then turned, "Dax, you joining us?"

"Oh, you can't stop me from missing this. Besides, something tells me that you just might need a diplomat."

As Jadzia fell into step behind her Commander and friend, Kim whispered, "I don't think V'Du will be too happy with an Ambassador of Klingon expertise."

"Too bad… for him." Jadzia smirked. Her expression became cold all of a sudden. "Also, even though Benjamin is the Commander of the Station, V'Du still outranks him. I'm here to temper the scales. Right Benjamin?"

"Exactly Old-Man." Sisko responded, in the same deep cold voice, without looking back. Kim then realized he was indeed talking to Curzon right now. Curzon will keep V'Du from undermining Sisko's authority while on the station. Crew Morale demanded it.

In a few minutes, the collected gang of leader, ambassador, and guest arrived at the docking port of Tower Three. There were still a few docking procedures still taking place, so Kim took the time to mentally brace herself and place the protective mental armor around her mind. This time, when she faced V'Du, she would be a bastion of calm, detached professionalism.

She would Out Vulcan the Vulcan.

Finally, the last mechanism set itself in place, and the gear-like doors swung open from each side. Out of the opening, two men walked out the airlock. They were both around the same height and carried the same professional authority. For one, it was simply his annoying character stance, a stance that Kim would have to deal with for the remainder of her tenure aboard the _Jackal_. The other, dressed in stellar-gray camos and sporting close crop-cut sandy-blonde hair, carried his militant stance purely due to his genetic purging. He would most likely be as emotionally rigid as her new CO, but Kim didn't know if he would flout his detached mindset around like the Vulcan.

Before Kim could properly report herself to him, Captain V'Du of Vulcan turned his slightly upturned nose towards Commander Sisko, and addressed him in a calm but steel-cold voice. "Starfleet Protocol 86.7.530 Subparagraph 9 states that all junior officers must great their superiors with a salute." Kim swore she heard V'Du stress superior, though she knew he would never admit it.

Kim saw Sisko began to seethe, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, but managed to repress his anger and presented V'Du with the crispest salute she had ever seen. It looked as if it could cut through steel, but she suspected he'd settle for a green-blooded narcissist. When V'Du turned his blank eyes toward herself, she also knocked off a salute, not giving him any ammo to use against her. Not now at least.

When his piercing gaze fell upon Lieutenant Dax, instead of a salute she just glared at him. He raised an eyebrow in response. "Lieutenant, are you not a member of Starfleet High Command?" He asked in a dispassionate tone.

"Indeed I am, Captain." She replied in the same format, never breaking gaze.

"And are you familiar with protocol?" He continued, and Kim could tell he looked eager to reprimand the SEFWAR Officer.

"Don't tell me you already forgot it already? I thought Vulcans had a superior memory, much more superior than us lowly emotional beings." Jadzia responded sardonically. Kim's mouth dropped a bit in shock. Sisko could care less and let out a gawk of laughter. V'Du's Marine Commander even let out a small smirk. Kim liked him immediately.

"V'Du on his part, just stared at Dax with his lofty eyes quickly filled with a rage that he quickly suppressed. Kim smiled inwardly at Jadzia's victory and prayed that she wouldn't be booted out of Starfleet for her insubordinate remark. "You dare mock your superior with an emotional response?" He calmly asked. "It seems my hypothesis regarding other Non-Vulcans has just become more viable. Fascinating."

Jadzia then sneered back maliciously at her opponent. "For the record, you are not my superior, both professionally and biologically. Commander Sisko is my superior in regards to regulations, and no-one is my equal in terms of species. I carry eight lifetimes within me, all who have lived spectacular and glorious lives, something that you have yet to experience in your one life. So if anything, you should be saluting me."

V'Du raised his eyebrow again. "Vulcans do need the drug of 'spectacular' or 'glorious' lives. Logic leads us to personal perfection. Without it, we would still be just as barbaric and primitive as you."

"Only a Vulcan would claim logic without emotion as perfection." Jadzia shot back. Kim detected a Klingonish growl imbued in her words.

"I'll let my career speak for itself." V'Du raised his nose and turned towards Kim, apparently considered the matter closed. Kim saw Jadzia prepare another cutting-retort, but relented after a look from Sisko. V'Du didn't seem to notice. He was focusing on his new XO.

"Commander Kimbrelika Possible. Age 35. Graduated Starfleet Academy, minimal marks, in Command piloting. Assigned _USS Majestic_ , low-key planetary survey ship desperate for any pilots they could acquire, and expected to fall into obscurity. During tenure aboard, discovered to possess a mind intelligently geared towards Science and Electronic Forensics and Warfare. Promoted and Reassigned.

After tenure aboard Majestic, transferred back to the Academy for further education. Received three doctorates in Stellar Mechanics, Electromagnetic Warfare, and Sensor Forensics. Promoted and transferred to Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards after the Massacre of Wolf 359. Assisted in the Defiant Project, with focus on EM Interference and Particle Disruption. Success in both areas led to commendation and assignment as SEFWAR Department Head of the Akira Project. Also a success. Received commendation, promotion, and reassignment to its first prototype: USS Jackal.

V'Du catalogued Kim's career as if reading from a shopping list. She wondered if he was impressed at how far she had come after his brutal mentoring during her early years. "And they made you my First Officer. Disappointing." _Nope, he was not._

Kim felt a need to defend herself at his accusation. "High Command believes that my command skills cultivated during my tenure at Utopia Planetia are adequate to act as your First Officer. I have the ability to command, even if it's not in the environment that I'm used to." She replied in iron professionalism.

"That remains to be seen. Command of a starship, let alone a tactical one, is much more difficult than a comfortable desk job. Especially with your emotional needs I might add. Wouldn't you agree Commander Sisko?" V'Du turned towards the Station Commander.

Kim found herself smiling, despite herself, at his response. "I agree that the two commands are far different, each with different challenges and duties, but there also benefits that Commander Possible's previous assignments can bring aboard your ship, not to mention that there is always a chance to learn new skills. Something that I believe Commander Possible is quite capable of doing."

V'Du nodded. "A logical response." Then he stared straight at Sisko, "but flawed. While she may be capable of learning those skills, there is still a bridge of time between her current incompetence and adequate mastery. I believe, that based on my previous history with the Commander, it will be a long bridge indeed."

Those words struck a chink in Kim's armor. How dare he use his tormenting and humiliating mentorship against her abilities. Every move she made, every accomplishment she achieved, every victory she gained in his eyes would always be referred and compared back to those miserable two years. So long as V'Du was her CO, he would never allow her to move past her beginnings. They weren't even her fault!

She was just about ready to throttle that smug Vulcan look off his face when she caught the eye of the marine next to him. He was eying her intensely, with a knowing look and determined expression on his face. His deep brown eyes which complimented his spots that marked him a Trill were warning her against such an action. In an instant, she realized what he was doing.

He was protecting her. He was making sure she didn't make a fool out of herself against her CO. At the same time, he was gazing at her in understanding of the situation. That gaze was filling her with calmness and peace. She was pleasantly surprised. Stellar Marines weren't generally known for being caring or understanding. All those emotions were genetically spliced out of their system, leaving only unbridled loyalty and obedience to their CO and the Federation. Seeing that look on his face made her wonder. Why was he so different?

Apparently though, this whole visual exchange was lost on V'Du. Seeing how he wasn't getting any reaction from his probing except a calm acceptance of the imposed challenged, he raised his eyebrow in astonished acceptance, about faced and began walking back to his ship. "Indulge in your goodbyes Commander, then report aboard my ship. Major, you're with me. I see no reason for your presence here." He called over his shoulder.

"By your command, sir," the Major smartly replied, standing at quick attention and moved to join his Captain. Before he turned away, the Major quickly nodded to each Starfleet Officer. When he turned to Kim, she again felt the understanding and warmth radiating from his eyes. How interesting.

As soon as the Vulcan and Augment left the airlock back onto the ship, the atmosphere quickly lightened and the stress levels dropped completely. Kim quickly gave her goodbyes to both Sisko and Jadzia. After Sisko provided the normal reassurances that she'll do fine and to keep her chin up, he left, leaving the two SEFWAR Officers standing alone. Jadzia, it seemed, was more interested in the Trill Augment.

"I'm so jealous of you right now." Jadzia almost whined.

"Why? Because of V'Du?" Kim asked shocked at the announcement.

"V'Du? Yeah right. No, the Major. Kim, do you know who that was?"

"Obviously not, seeing as how you're going on about like he's some sort of celebrity." Kim joked.

"He might as well be, seeing as how he's the only one of his kind."

"What do you mean? He's a Trill, just like you." Kim was now confused.

Jadzia shook her head. "No Kim, he's not. He's an Augmented Trill."

"So? There are plenty of Trill Augments in the Corps."

"Not like him. He's special. Did you see the way he looked at you? With emotion? He actually likes you."

"Will you just cut to the part where you tell me who he is," Kim exasperated, desperately trying to fight down a blush.

"He's Rondexus Stoppable, the first Joined Trill Augment."

 _A/N: So, how exciting. More exciting than my first attempt at this chapter. I hope you agree. If you're wondering why our heroes names are a little skewed, there's a logical reason for that, and the answer lies in the connection between the Trill Symbiot and the MMP. I hope you figure it out before my next chapter._

 _See you soon. And be sure to review. It makes me happy and longing for more. Holla!_


	3. ACT I Part II

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned. Be sure to read the previous chapter if you haven't already as I scrapped it completely and started over. Otherwise, this one may seem a little non-sequitur. Also, a brief behind the scenes explanation can be found at the conclusion of this chapter if you're a little confused about Trills and Symbiots._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Ron use his MMP power more and Star Trek would have more Joined Trill characters._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT I – PART II_**

Major Rondexus Stoppable, Delta Company Commander, 101st Regiment, Starfleet Stellar Marine Corps, _and_ recently Joined Trill, was shocked.

 _It's statistically impossible._ He outrageously thought. _It can't have been her. No way. No how. There is no possible likelihood that this Commander Kimbrelika Possible is the same Kimberly Anne Possible from my memories. Memories from a_ human _three centuries ago!_

And yet here she was, a spitting image of his wife looking the same as she did so long ago. His Kimberly. His KP. Standing before him and his Captain wearing a cold and steely stare on her face, as if nothing could penetrate her thick hide. _Just like my KP when she fought off Bonnie's snide remarks or any number of Shego's plasma bolts with a hint of sarcasm._ He internally glowed, then stopped himself short. _Wait, KP wasn't mine. She was Ronald Stoppable's. The human whose memories have somehow become part my Symbiot._

He was so amazed that he nearly tripped over himself as V'Du began his daily routine of imposing his logical will onto the rest of his subordinates. _God, V'Du was just as bad as Will Du himself. No worse, at least I could deck the so called_ Top Agent _when his mouth went on overdrive._

Thankfully though, Major Stoppable quickly recovered without missing a beat, his mask of indifference firmly back in place. It was mask that he secretly enjoyed. It not only allowed him to observe each area of interest without drawing attention to himself, but also allowed him to control and manage his resurgent emotions that came with the Joining Process.

Major Stoppable thought it really sucked being Joined with a Symbiot, especially this one in particular. Emotions and ambitions previously purged from his system due to the final stages of his marine training now ran amok throughout his body once again. And with all the new torrents of feelings raging through his mind came a strong one in particular:

Fear.

Fear from going into battle. Fear from dying. Fear for being incapable of performing his duties. But most importantly, fear from being caught. No marine graduate that survived the augmenting process retained emotion. That was the rule. Lack of emotion meant lack of arrogance. Lack of arrogance meant lack of ambition and power. Lack of ambition and power meant lack of a new and modernized Eugenics War. If the Corps realized how deep and bountiful his emotional responses went, he could be perceived as a threat and subject to removal.

That still didn't prevent him from performing his duty to protect the Federation. The loyalty that was spliced into his genome still functioned completely, not that he really needed it. He enlisted into the Corps for honor and sacrifice. To serve and protect his nation. To be a patriot.

His Symbiot helped with that too.

"Don't tell me you already forgot it already? I thought Vulcans had a superior memory, much more superior than us lowly emotional beings." He heard Lieutenant Dax, a fellow Joined Trill, respond to one of V'Du's many annoying and useless questions.

He faced cracked into a smirk which he quickly suppressed, hoping no one saw the momentarily lack of weakness. From the looks he was getting from KP – _NO! Commander Possible!_ – he realized his effort was futile. He was about to reprimand himself he saw a glint in her eyes– _amusement, perhaps? Interesting_.

He was so sure she would freak, just like the others who seen an Augment express emotion for the first time before they got to know him, yet she seemed generally curious and interested. _She's just like my KP, always looking at new things in wonder and amazement._ He liked her immediately.

It was rare for the Major to be affected in that particular way by anyone. Even with his resurgent emotions, people still made little impressions on him. Mostly because when they saw his flicker of amusement, or frown in anger, they look at him as if an abomination or as the second coming of Khan Noonien Singh.

No, Major Stoppable liked her and would stick by her to help weather the storm that is Captain V'Du.

"…While she may be capable of learning those skills, there is still a bridge of time between her current incompetence and adequate mastery. I believe, that based on my previous history with the Commander, it will be a long bridge indeed."

 _Like now, perhaps._

If this Kimbrelika was anything like his KP, she would be two seconds away from face-planting the arrogant prick on his hard Vulcan ass. He would have let her done so if not for two problems: V'Du was her new CO. He also had three times her strength. So, he stepped in.

When she managed to make eye-contact with Major, he made sure his eyes screamed "BAD IDEA!" while at the same time "ITS OKAY! I UNDERSTAND!" She apparently got the message because he noticed her eyes relaxing, her body uncoiling, and blood pressure dissipating. When V'Du finally turned his gaze away and made to enter the airlock again, he let out the most silent of sighs in relief. Thankfully, not even the Commander saw that display.

"Indulge in your goodbyes Commander, then report aboard my ship. Major, you're with me. I see no reason for your presence here." V'Du called his shoulder, calling him as if some pet. _Damn him! Doesn't he know I can kill him in one blow?_ He internally fumed. _Whoah, Ron-man, calm down. Don't want to blow a gasket. That'll surely get you discovered… Wait, Ron-man?! Uh, great. Now I'm starting to think like that naco-loving mutant. I bet I'll start shouting BOO-YAH soon enough_.

That monologue went through his head as Major Stoppable fluidly and smartly snapped off his salute with the accommodating "Sir" on the end. After indulging in a few nods, with a little emphasis on his new XO, he about-faced himself and marched back to the _Jackal_. After all, there was training to be done.

He was just around the corner of the airlock when his superior hearing overheard the two SEFWAR Officers final remarks. They couldn't blame him for eavesdropping. Almost everyone severely underestimated the acute hearing of marine augments. He was always thankful of that. It saved his life in numerous engagements. This was not one of those times.

"No Kim, he's not. He's an Augmented Trill." _What's that supposed to mean?_

"So? There are plenty of Trill Augments in the Corps." _You tell her KP- Uhh! Commander._

"Not like him. He's special. Did you see the way he looked at you? With emotion? He actually likes you." _Shit! That's not good._

"Will you just cut to the part where you tell me who he is _." Why would she know who I was?_

"He's Rondexus Stoppable, the first Joined Trill Augment." _Oh. That's why._

 _So much for making a new friend._ He thought disappointedly. _If the Trill knew as much about me as I think she does, I don't stand a chance._ The major increased his pace to get out earshot. He was upset, another distracting emotion that he hadn't had time to quell, nor did he want to at the moment. When the XO learned about his difficulty with emotions, not to mention the interesting past that his Symbiot had undergone, she be revolted and fearful of his presence and state of mind.

 _I could picture it now_ , he despondently thought. _She'll question every single suggestion I make. She'll keep me at arms' length. Or worse, she'll report me to V'Du, who will then dispassionately strip me of my hard-earned command and lock me away in chains. Damn these emotions. Damn this Symbiot. Damn. Damn. Damn!_

Major Stoppable increased his pace once again, illogically thinking that if he could reach the barracks aboard the _Jackal_ and reach his men, he could escape the coming storm. _He won't arrest me in front of my men. Surely V'Du's not that stupid. It would cripple their morale._

That thought made him stop in the middle of his tracks. _He is that stupid. He'd probably even order my own men to shoot me, to purge his precious logical command of any 'unnecessary' and 'destructive' emotional beings. No, I can't do that to my men. Their emotions may be suppressed, but they're still there. I won't let my men suffer unnecessarily. I'd rather die than force them into that situation. If I am to be removed, I'll face it head on. Like a good marine._ With that resolution, he continued on, except this time to his own quarters.

Just as he rounded the next corner on C Deck (Crew Quarters), a familiar voice called to him. "Major Stoppable, wait! I need to speak to you!" He froze.

It was the Commander.

 _Well, time to face the music._ He snapped to attention and came about a full 180, in a fluid movement that would make any marine proud. "Sir! What can I do for you?"

The Commander ran up to him with a confused expression on her face _. It's like she was expecting someone else. But who?_

"It is Major Stoppable, right?" She asked tentatively.

"Sir!" Was the crisp response.

Her confused frown deepened. She was studying his face in detailed scrutiny, as if looking for something. Something familiar. _She's probably looking for my emotional defect_ , he inwardly sighed.

He felt her eyes attempting to look into his, but he maintained his focus on the bulkhead above her left shoulder. He knew what would happen if made eye contact. His mask would break. He could not resist those large green eyes. _Stupid Symbiot!_ After spending what he seemed hours visual interrogating him, she let out a small groan of frustration.

"Major, I wanted to…" she paused. _Here it comes. Face it like a man!_ "I… I need to report to the bridge. Can you escort me there? The corridors are lot different in full size than from a design model. I have found myself completely lost," she weakly asked.

The Major knew she was lying. The inflections and decibel range he detected screamed spur of the moment and uncertainty. _What was she about to say? Was she about to reveal me, but chickened out? KP wasn't this timid. If she had a problem with me, she'd call me on it. Maybe they're not the same._ Surprising himself, he felt a little disappointed in her.

The thought also comforted him. _She's not going to reveal me as defective. At least not yet_. Still though, he wasn't sure as to reason to the delay or confidentiality. It could be timidity or something else. Regardless, he had an opportunity to show her that he was still just as capable of performing his duties as any marine, despite the hindrance of the Symbiot and its baggage.

He squared his shoulders. "Of course sir. Please follow me and I'll direct you."

Her chin briefly touched her chest and she let out a small smile while her eyes lit up in gratitude. The Major nearly melted at that gaze. _God! She's just as adorable as KP!_

"Thank you Major." He responded with a crisp nod.

As she fell in step beside him, she silently continued to gaze at him, admiring and investigating everything there is and was about the _Jackal's_ Marine Detachment Commander. She took note of his polished black military combat boots rated for all terrain. The Major sensed her eyes hover around the various items around his lower body. He noticed her keen interest in his dual pulse-phaser pistols, definitely not the Marine Combat issued phaser rifle. _Probably chalking it up to another one of my infallibilities._

After taking stock of the few stun grenades he carried around, as well as his twin combat knives, her eyes continued their detailed scan upward, taking in consideration of the stellar gray-camos that barely managed to hide the stocky frame of a fully developed augment marine. They then rested on his standard issued Marine Katana on his back. He inwardly smiled at how important the blade had become to him. _That wasn't always the case._ He thought back.

Before he was Joined, he never preferred close combat. _Too many variables and no appropriate cover for him and his men_ , he justified. Augments may have been extremely resistant to phaser and disrupter fire, but they weren't invincible. Sprinting to close the gap between enemies drew too much fire. He was intimately aware of the disadvantage, having witnessed and partaken in it during an attack on a numerically superior group of Cardassians at Setlik III.

At the time it was necessary. The Cardies were holding the colonists hostage, and even the famed marksmanship of the Corps was incapable of forcing an opening or surrender. So, they ordered a charge, a charge composing two companies of forty marines into an infested no win scenario of 200 Cardassians of the Third Battalion, First Order.

Despite laying down as much suppressing fire into the spoonheads' entrenched position as his own company could manage, five of other one's marines fell before they made contact. After Charlie Company occupied the forward staging area, the pre-Joined Major Kragen and his Delta Company joined the fray, and it became a bloodshed.

While outnumbered, the strengths of the Augments took dominance. They were faster, stronger, could take more hits than the strongest Cardassian. With their duranium katanas and body armor, they sliced through the opposition as if through butter. Despite numerous demands for surrender, the Cardassians wouldn't let up. They were determined to fight to the last man. No matter the cost.

When the carnage finally subsided and the guns fell silent, only the marines and colonists remained standing. It wasn't a complete victory. Ten marines, two from Kragen's own company, had sustained critical injuries that required extreme time and attention to heal. One of them suffered permanent damage and would never recover.

It was Major Felixus Renton of Charlie Company.

Thinking about that memory now stirred new feelings of pang and loss. It was another reason to curse his Symbiot. The corollary between Major Renton and the human Felix was too painful and sick. After the doctors were finished with him, the Major would never be able to walk again. A unique gene in Renton's DNA not eliminated with the augment treatment prevented any form of biosynthetic prosthetic from being attached. Major Renton, Charlie Company, hero of Setlik III, and now seen as the closest thing to as a friend to Major Stoppable, was medically discharged from the Corps as a paralytic.

 _Fate has a cruel sense of humor_ , Stoppable inwardly mused.

It was due to that result that Major Kragen decided to use close combat as a last resort when faced with an enemy. With the Klingons allied to the Federation, there truly wasn't an enemy left that preferred hand-to-hand combat. It was a strategy that served Delta Company well. They went through the Cardassian Border Wars capitalizing that mentality.

Even during the Liberation of Bajor, Delta Company and the 101st used long range and mid range tactics. The Battle of Ashalla, now considered one of the deadliest city battles for the brutal street fighting between Central Command and the Army of the Federation, took its toll on the three Corps regiments assigned to assist.

Compared to the rest of the Corps regiments, the 101st suffered the fewest casualties due to accurate planning, sharpshooting, and refusal to engage in-house fighting, preferring to draw the enemy out into enveloping pulse fire. Delta Company in particular suffered no critical casualties. Experience and logic proved to Major Kragen that hand-to-hand combat was not suitable in modern war.

Until Kragen was Joined and took the name and mantle of Stoppable.

Now, every time he saw the enemy, he was immediately reminded of the memory of the ancient Lotus Blade and the ancient Trill Martial Art similar to, but often mistaken, as the human Tai Shing Pek Kwar. Too often the Major would catch himself analyzing the conflict with a more close-handed approach, rather than thinking rationally and engaging from afar. _Yeah, my freaking past host had to become a ninja master. That's just perfect._

Still, Major Stoppable didn't achieve his rank by turning away opportunity. Tai Shing Pek Kwar, as well as many other martial arts, was lost as Earth was consumed by nuclear fire, and even the name of the ancient Trill Martial Art was forgotten during Trillius Prime's ancient Symbiot Wars. So, carrying the memories and skills of his previous hosts gave his company an unprecedented advantage over the others. He quickly arranged numerous training sessions with his men until they became as proficient, deadly, and as silent as the Grand Lotus Master of old.

He still didn't like charging into the fray though.

It seemed that Commander Possible had finished her visual inspection of the unique Major; due to the fact that she moved on the verbal inspection. "Major," she began, "is it true that you carry a Symbiot?" _Wow. She doesn't beat around the bush. I guess after her inspection, I have been found wanting._

"Yes sir." He didn't dare give anything else away.

"May I inquire as to why?" _Damn, she's nosy._

"I apologize, sir, but I consider it a personal matter." He felt he was a little too crisp and sharp. His suspicion was confirmed when she looked down in embarrassment and possibly shame. He felt another emotion run through him: guilt. _Ahh! What is wrong with me?!_

"Let's just say that it wasn't by choice. Wrong place. Wrong time." _What the hell?! I've never told anyone outside the Corps that._

He saw her curiosity was peaked again but must have realized how privileged the information bestowed upon her was; because, instead of inquiring deeper into his meaning, she offered a sympathetic smile. "It must have been traumatic for you. I've heard that applicants have to endure 15 years of training and screening to be chosen for joining."

Major Stoppable was impressed. Most outsiders weren't aware at the grueling training regimen to become Joined. Most assumed that the joining process was common throughout the Trill. _She must have hung around the Trill Dax a lot to have such an intimate detail of Trill Society. Still, she probably still sees me as threat like the Augments of old._

Her next musing confirmed it. "I wonder what the effect of the Symbiot would have on augment host." She whispered, more to herself than anything and again underestimated the marine sense of hearing.

He steeled himself behind his emotionless mask. "Sir, I can assure you that despite my…anomaly, that I am still fully capable of carrying out my duties with the same professionalism that is demanded of me, as well as any other man."

He saw her face go from confusion, to shock, and finally to apologetic. "I'm sorry Major. That's not what I meant. I would never question your abilities and skill due to your unique situation, especially after hearing about your amazing and heroic exploits during the Border Wars. I was merely wondering if there were some hidden benefits that the Symbiot can bring to the ship and crew."

Stoppable was still skeptical about her position, but he still allowed a hint of contemplation appear on his face. "What kinds of abilities would you consider beneficial to a marine commander, sir? Surely you would think that any deficiencies would have been addressed with the enhancement program?"

She jumped at the attempt to redeem herself in his eyes. _Strange, no-one else has ever tried so hard to gain my approval. It's mostly 'Yes sir!' 'No sir!' or 'How high sir?!' Have I been wrong about her?_ He allowed her the chance to speak. "Well, for instance, your compassion. Earlier with V'Du, you stopped me from making the worst mistake of my career. Well," she snorted, "in your disquiet unnoticeable marine way that wouldn't attract any attention."

"I simply felt it wasn't wise to knock out your new commanding officer on your first day, sir." Major Stoppable commented dryly.

"Perhaps," she replied back in the same manner, "but any other marine commander wouldn't have interfered, except," she tilted her head, "perhaps to restrain and arrest me for assaulting a superior officer."

"There is that, sir." _Wait, am I actually conversing with a Starfleet Officer._ _That's a first. Boo-y– NO! Don't you dare think that._

"What I'm trying to say," she stared at the Major, "was that your extremely helpful interference allowed me to keep my commission and maintain my future in Starfleet. I was wondering if that was due to your Symbiot. I've never seen such compassion from any marine before."

The Major felt the need to defend his fellow comrades. "Pardon me sir, but I think that the Corps is compassionate enough. After all, if we weren't, how can we adequately defend the people of the Federation from enemies foreign and domestic?"

"There's a difference between your duty to Starfleet and the compassion that I saw earlier at the airlock. What you did, though well hidden from the crowd other than myself, was not required. You stepped out of your comfort zone to help me in the full presence of the biggest logical prude I have ever met." The statement was too much for the Major. He let out a brief snicker at his esteemed Captain's title.

"See!" she exclaimed. "Emotionalism like that is not common among the Corps. It's different, and I wonder if its due to your Symbiot. Your past hosts must have had quite lovely lives."

"They did sir," he responded quietly, thinking of all the times Ron and KP spent together, alone and with no worries but themselves and the future, "but that point is moot. My life is devoted to Starfleet and the Federation, and that life must be free of emotion, lest I let it control me, just as it did your ancient predecessors."

"You mean the Eugenics Wars?" she asked.

He nodded. "Exactly sir. I know the bloodshed and pain of that point in history, and the dangers of renewing it to save Earth and later the Federation. That was the condition we graduates had to accept in order to move forward in our final step of training. To let go of our old lives. To give ourselves over to Starfleet so that we can protect those who can't defend themselves. We were given the ultimate tools of defense and strength, yet restricted in a way so that we cannot use those gifts to seize power and plunge the quadrant into chaos."

In their little dialogue, the Major realized they stopped walking, and at that realization, realized how much he was giving away _. I'm telling her everything! Stop yourself before you go too far._ Unfortunately, the Major looked into the Commander's eyes yet again and was struck speechless by what he saw. In the vastness of shiny green, he recognized sympathy, understanding, and pride of the sacrifice he and his fellow marines have made to serve the Federation. While still gazing down into them, she made her final thrust. "And now with your Symbiot?"

Major Stoppable didn't have a chance. He was already lost. The moment the words left her lips, he knew he would spill everything. Not just because of the memories and similarities between the Commander and his KP – _NO! Ron's KP!_ – but due to the person standing before him not judging him or accusing him of wrongdoing. She, unlike every other officer he met, had seen his irregularity not as a handicap or as a failing, but as an opportunity to better himself, as a marine and as a person. _A person?_. He had not felt like a person ever since surviving the Augmenting Process. Her simple, yet calming words soothed him, and as such, he could not deny her the truth, consequences be damned.

"After I was Joined, my suppressed emotions were unlocked," the Major revealed. "I began to feel again. The joy of space travelling. The pain and sorrow of loosing fellow crewmen. The anger at letting the enemy escape or outwit us. The pride I feel in my men during every venture.

"These emotions overwhelmed me at first. You have to understand, I haven't experienced these feelings in such abundance for over fifteen years. The past year was difficult to manage. I had to constantly rebuild my walls and convince my superiors that the Joining Process hadn't affected my ability to command and carry out my duties."

Commander Possible gave him another sympathetic smile. "You seem to have done well in the past year though. Based on our interactions now, you appear to have a firm control over them, just like a Vulcan."

The Major let loose another small smirk when she cringed at mentioning the logical race. "Part of our enhancement includes the Vulcans' abilities to suppress whatever emotions remain after the purge. They think of it as an insurance policy. Something I've been developing in great abundance after my joining."

"I can imagine." she grinned back. "Maybe you could ask our illustrious Captain to assist you with your Vulcan abilities." She joked.

The Major stopped again, looking at her in dead seriousness. "That's a very bad idea, sir. If he knew how deep my newfound emotions went, he would waste no time stripping me of my command and tossing me out the nearest airlock. I can't let that happen."

"I was only kidding, Major." The Commander almost appeared hurt by his accusation. "I, maybe more than anyone, know how much hatred and prejudice the man, despite being a Vulcan, has towards emotion and impulse. You can trust me to not to spill the beans to anyone who would take your command away, especially high-and-mighty Captain V'Du."

The reassurance calmed him down again. "Thank you sir, and I apologize for misconstruing your remark."

"No big," she replied, in the same tenor and reassuring manner as the one in his memories. _Okay that's just weird._ He thought as they once made their way to the bridge. "Oh and Major? You can drop the whole 'sir' thing. Never been a big fan of that title."

"I'll try to remember that sir."

He more than felt rather than saw Commander Possible roll her eyes. "You're so weird, but that's what I like about you."

The Major looked up at the ceiling a raised his hands from his sides. _You're screwing with me, aren't you?_ He mentally asked of nobody. Thankfully, the Commander didn't notice the jester.

 _A/N: Okay that was a lot of new material. Here's a little bit of Star Trek info for those who haven't seen DS9 (which IMHO is the best show because it gives the Federation more realistic qualities). The Trill Symbiot is a slug-like creature that has can be surgically placed inside a Trill. Once "Joined," they in essence generate a new personality due to having the combined memories, quirks, and abilities of the Symbiots' previous hosts. If you haven't figured it out, Ron's MMP was in reality (at least in my version) the consciousness of a very old Symbiot that had trouble integrating with a human. Somehow (and this will be revealed later in the story), the consciousness of the Symbiot as well as Ron's added memories, quirks, etc. were transferred back to a real Symbiot which has now found itself inside our new Marine Commander._

 _Hopefully this info helped clear up some questions you have. If not, feel free to look up the Trill Culture on any of the many Star Trek wikis. They can provide an abundance of information. Or post or PM me. I love feedback and questions._

 _Stay tuned for the final scene in this act. It and the following acts will have much more action. So you can stop worrying. I've never been good with drama that much. That's why it took me forever to put this scene together._


	4. ACT I Part III

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _I deeply apologize for my lack of updates. My work at the office has nearly doubled due to contracts and projects that need to be completed before Winter sets in. Add the fact that Season 3 of Arrow was just released on Netflix, and I found myself swamped. Still though, I am really sorry for leaving all you interested readers hanging like that. It won't happen again._

 _Thanks again for the kind reviews and opinions. They really make this enjoyable for myself._

 _A_ _ **HUGE**_ _thanks to Uberscribbler for pulling my head out of my ^ &. If not for him, I probably wouldn't have jump back onto this. As an aside to that thought, if you feel that too much time has passed between updates, take a page out of his book and message me to continue. I have the story thought out, it just needs to be put on paper._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Wade give Ron a Communicator and Star Trek would have a Stellar Fighter Force, not those cheap Shuttle Craft._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT I – PART III_**

Lieutenant Commander Woad loved his job.

He loved being a Command Pilot. He loved coordinating numerous Talon Fighters over a central HUB, using complex command algorithms to create unpredictable flight paths and combat maneuvers. Maybe that's why he was chosen as Talon-Marshall for the Jackal. It was after all the first Deep-Space Infiltration Carrier. It made sense for the best Talon commander to set precedent for the next generation of Starfleet Defensive Vessels.

 _Not that I think myself the best._ The Commander thought. He knew he was going to lose ships. They did after all have minimal deflector shields. Plus, they were small. _More like drones_ , he mused, _seeing how they're pilotless_. He shuddered to think of those primitive times where those same Talon Fighters were piloted by men. _They were the highest casualties among all branches of the High Command._ _Maybe that's why they're still called fighters._ He paused, _in remembrance to the honored dead_.

No, he knew he wasn't the best. He would lose some of his precious Fighters in every engagement. Whether by a skilled opponent, faulty circuitry, or just plain bad luck, something would happen, and he'd have to chalk up another one on his material loss report. He hated those reports, they only served to make him and his pilots look bad. They may just be circuitry and metal, but to Load, they were like his children, and it was always hard to deal with newborns.

But the losses didn't make him stop trying to better himself in combat or command. He'd spend hours and hours looking over the after-action reports, trying to find areas of improvement, or gaps within his subroutines, or even scrapping algorithms completely for their ineffectiveness. Hell, he'd sometimes use unintended anomalies that won the day and program them back into his maneuvers. What he didn't appreciate though was the never ending criticism he'd receive from his CO.

That was another thing he despised. Captain V'Du. The Vulcan would hover over his board during every simulation, every training session, every combat scrape, shaking his head, raising his damn eye-brow, and muttering something about emotionally-compromised beings. _Of course I'm emotionally compromised, my babies were being destroyed._ He shook his head in amusement. _Okay maybe I do love my drones a little too much. I guess that's what happens when you spend your childhood in your room with nothing but a computer screen._

Still though, the Lt. Commander thought that a little optimism and confidence in his abilities from his Captain would go a long way. After all, isn't achieving maximum efficiency the goal of every Vulcan? _Optimism and confidence are emotions, Lieutenant Commander, and I trust you to remember that._ He snorted. He heard the "Vulcans don't have X" speech too many times. He was so glad that the XO finally came aboard the _Jackal._ He didn't know how much more Vulcan logic he could take.

 _Speak of the Devil_ , he thought as he observed the aforementioned Commander Possible entered the bridge with Major Stoppable following loyally behind her.

 _Loyally? Where the hell that thought come from?_ He puzzled, but at closer inspection he realized what his subconscious was saying. The Major was standing a little too close to the Commander, far closer than he would've thought acceptable. Also, there was the way his dark brown eyes were scanning the room for perceived threats, yet always ending on the Commander. _Wow. I wonder she said to deserve that kind of protection. I doubt Mr. Vulcan can touch her now, not if he wanted to get snapped in half._

Lt. Commander Load was really worried about the emotional display that he observed after meeting with the Major. He was familiar of the limited history of the Eugenics Wars that survived that dark time period. He knew that Khan Noonien Singh, as well as many other emotional augments, reintroduced racism to reinforce the thoughts of genetic elitism of the Augments. As a result, Blacks were treated worse than ever before. They were the slaves of slaves. Bad Times. Dark Times.

Maybe that's why he never got along with the Marines or Major Stoppable. It was bad enough that the Marine Assault Arm of Starfleet High Command were all Modern Augments, but to take an Augment, who not only had a gift for ground assault tactics and overall strategy but the devoted loyalty of every man under his command as well as the high respect of every officer in the regiment and division, and give him emotions and ambition. _Ha! Why don't we promote him and make him Commandant of the Corps? It's the next logical step on this spiral to Armageddon!_

And yet, Commander Woad saw the protectiveness of the Major radiating off of him for his XO. It was more than the standard superior officer protection vibes. It was as if the Major considered everyone around her a potential hostile. He found the idea troublesome. Getting pulverized by an overprotective superman was not on his To-Do List.

The Talon Commander was brought out of his musings by the monotone voice of his Captain. "Commander Possible, I see that you were finally able to join us. I wonder, were you lost? Or were you simply too intimidated by the grandiose of this ship to directly approach us?"

Woad saw the Commander bristle at the accusation. _Oh boy, here we go._ Yet the blow up never came. Instead of the expected explosion of emotional outbreak, what the Lt. Commander saw instead was a cold feminine face shoot back indifference. "I apologize for my tardiness, Captain." And nothing more was said.

 _Interesting,_ Woad thought. Usually, any crewmen that drew the Captain's cold ire would babble any list of excuses just to get him off their back. _Even though it never worked._ To see a simple apology, even unnecessarily, without an explanation had never occurred to anyone.

"Commander Possible, do you have anything _more_ to say for yourself?" V'Du asked, his chest puffed out while standing aside the Captain's chair.

"Does anything _more_ need to be said, _sir?_ " Even Load heard the stretch at the end. "I was under the impression that New Bajor was expecting us at the most immediate opportunity, but if you would rather spend the next few minutes extracting the reason for my tardiness, then by all means, we can waste that time away."

Not one, but both of V'Du's eyebrows shot up in response to the hidden insult. "Commander, I hope that was a poor attempt at humor, because the consequences for snide remarks can be most severe." He coldly replied.

At the accusation, Woad saw the Major, who still stood just behind the Commander, in pure reflex, lower his right hand to one of his pulse phasers. _I bet the Captain doesn't know that he's flirting with death right now._ Despite that troubling thought, the Lt. Commander was pretty impressed with the XO so far. She was holding her ground, especially with her next comment. _Or jibe_ , he snorted. "Of course not, Captain. I was simply making an observation, and taking the conversation to its next logical step, a conversation, by the way, that you did initiate." _Oh shit!_

Before the Captain could continue in this pointless pissing match, the communications officer saved the day. "Captain V'Du, Deep Space Nine has given us departure clearance and has kindly offered us safe journeys." _Or in other words: Move it along!_

Captain V'Du immediately swiveled around to the monitor, which currently was displaying the forward cameras of the ship. Almost as if speaking to the monitors, he issued out his commands. "Very well. Communications, acknowledge and relay commands to our escorts for departure. Helm, make ready to detach from Deep Space Nine and chart a course to wormhole. Stand by to cloak." He paused, then slowly turned around to the Commander with a evil glint in his eye.

"On second thought, I calculate this would be an appropriate time for our new Executive Officer to prove herself in Command. After all, part of the XO's duty is to take Command when the Captain is incapable of carrying out his duties. Let's determine how well you can lead, Commander."

Lt. Commander Woad was wondering why the Chief SEFWAR Officer also held the position of XO as well. Their primary duties sometimes even exceeded that of the Captain. Their responsibilities could range from coordinating numerous survey readings and scientific expeditions to determining shield harmonic and torpedo guidance frequencies of enemy vessels to investigating every anomaly and unknown that their vessel came across. Adding command and engineering overseer responsibilities to the pile would drive anyone crazy. Only a Vulcan could hope to multitask all those responsibilities.

 _Maybe V'Du realizes that and is trying to use it to embarrass Possible right in front of the command staff. Damn, sucks to be her._

For a second or two, Woad saw doubt flicker in Commander Possible's eyes and posture. He understood her position. She's never commanded a ship, let alone a prototype combat cruiser, in her life. SEFWAR Officers were by nature, introverts who prefer to be behind a duty station – or in her case a desk – silently and diligently calculating some unknown variable and problem while leaving public duties like commanding a starship, to other, more adventurous officers. Officers like Woad for instance.

Then, Woad again saw the impossible. He saw Major Stoppable, a supposed emotionless automaton whose only purpose was to defeat the Federation's enemies, walk calmly but confidently up to the Commander's side and give her the most slightest of nods. _Did a_ Marine _just give her a silent pep talk? No way!_

Apparently it was more than enough, because Commander Possible jumped straight into action with a confidence that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Lieutenant Jenkins, kindly signal the _Coyote_ and the _Gray_ _Wolf_ to form up on our flanks in standard V-Formation-Alpha. They are to remain cloaked."

"Aye sir," the Communication Officer replied, glad that her name was used instead of her title.

Giving her a friendly nod, she next turned toward the helm officer. "Mr. Gralk, please adjust us to heading 000-062-134 course mark 32, three-quarter impulse. We'll wait until our escort has formed up and then proceed toward the wormhole."

"Aye sir!" the eager Tellarite replied.

Once Commander Possible addressed her immediate concerns, she turned back to the Communications officer again. "Ms. Jenkins, please request statuses from all departments."

At the prompt for readiness, Woad checked with the armory and hangar decks for a readiness report. He figured it was just a formality. After all, he kept a tight department. _A respected ship is an efficient ship_ , his mother, a former Captain in the Federation Freighter Service always told him. He took it to heart, and they bared good fruit. In thirty seconds, both sections reported full readiness. He directed those findings to Jenkins' board.

Woad figured the rest of the ship responded accordingly due to the spunky officer's report, "Commander, all departments report ready. Engineering reports reactor at 100% readiness. Tactical reports shields and phaser emitters are fully recycled and the cloaking device is recharged. Hangar bay is secured and all fighters are locked down. And I have received full departure clearance into the Gamma Quadrant."

Commander Possible acknowledged her with a nod, albeit with a friendly smile instead a disdainful, yet somehow neutral gaze. Woad saw her beam even more. _Wow, she's really swaying the bridge to her side. Hell, even I like her, despite her present choice of company._

It was at that point that Woad noticed Major Stoppable press a button on his wrist communicator. For Woad, the thing always reminded him of those cool All-Purpose Devices used in those Fallout Games. It was certainly big enough. He wondered if it could play music. _Not that he'd be able to appreciate it. Music appreciation was not necessary to defend the Federation._

The Major then turned himself towards his commander. "The Marine Barracks and Armory are secured and report full readiness, sir." At that, Woad began to silently fume. _I can't believe that bastard has the audacity to use the sub-dermal transceivers, my own invention, right in front of me!_

Originally, they were limited to the MACOs of old, but when Woad was charged with upgrading them to modern specifications, he had high hopes of incorporating them into the Talon Starforce. With synthetic telepathy, the fighter pilots could communicate directly with each other instead of being totally dependent on their Carrier communications array. And he did it. He made it possible.

The problem was the cranial stress these devices generated. During the trial stage, test pilots either blacked out from continuous use, contracted an artificial version of schizophrenia, or in the worst cases, developed numerous tumors which led to brain cancer and certain death. In short, the human or any humanoid brain was too weak to resist the strain developed by his technological breakthrough.

But the Augments weren't.

 _Of course they weren't_ , he puffed. _They're perfect in every way_. They could withstand the stress generated by the transceivers. _That wasn't even the worse part_. After the technology was finally developed to transfer pilot control from the craft to their carrier ship, the Starforce decided to scrap the project and transfer it over to the Corps for further development.

It was over twenty years ago, and he was still pissed about it. In Woad's mind, the Corps stole his invention, added a few modifications, and patented it as their own design. Now every marine walked around with that little device planted firmly within their temporal lobe silently communicating with all the other marines.

 _Silent discussions. No one the wiser. Yeah, that was certainly a smart idea._ Some people called him paranoid, but Woad knew better. _It's not paranoia if someone was out to get you. Besides_ , he inwardly smirked, _with my little covert addition, I'll stay one step ahead of them all._ Not even the famed Corps scientists and engineers discovered his secret, and now the Lt. Commander knew the constant location of every single marine on this ship. Sure it was a little unethical, but when the security of the ship and its non-Augmented personal were at risk, Woad was willing to bend a few ethics.

Woad turned his head back towards the Commander as she acknowledged the Major with a more than friendly nod and smile ( _Are you % &$#ing kidding me!?_), and maneuvered herself to the center of the bridge again.

"Ms. Jenkins, are the _Coyote_ and _Grey Wolf_ in position?" She queried.

The sassy dark-skinned Jr. Lieutenant grinned back towards her temporary CO. "Affirmative Commander, they are in position and awaiting further instruction."

"Very good Lieutenant, have them maintain their relative position." At the nod, Commander Possible turned towards the Tellarite in the driver seat. "Helm, lay in a course for the wormhole, three-quarter impulse."

"Course laid in, Commander."

"Engage."

As the _Jackal_ and her _Defiant_ Escorts entered the wormhole, Woad risked a look towards Captain V'Du, and wasn't sure he liked what he saw. Despite being inwardly happy – no, more like ecstatic – at the clearly shocked face displayed by a being who continuously emphasized a lack of emotion, he wasn't sure that this rare breach was a good thing for the ship – or more likely the bridge crew.

 _I guess the Commander did know how to command a starship. I guess thinking otherwise would've been stupid. After all, this is the prototype. It should be commanded by staff who should know what they're doing. Right?_

Despite his random thoughts, Woad was starting to show concern for the Commander. Every correct move she made, every course correction she noticed, every compliment or method of encouragement she offered to the bridge staff seemed to raise the Vulcan's blood pressure.

 _Maybe he's pissed because they like her more than him. Huh. I never thought I'd ever see a jealous Vulcan. I guess I can cross that off the list._

"Commander," her SEFWAR relief announced, "we are arriving at the outlet of the wormhole."

"Very good Lieutenant Strong," she responded.

About ten seconds later, Woad noticed the wormhole open and spew the _Jackal_ and Co. into the normal space again. _We're here. We're in the Gamma Quadrant._

Woad was pleased to see Captain V'Du mildly shake with fury as Commander Possible continued to direct orders around the bridge. Woad figured V'Du thought this had gone on far enough. _Don't give him an opening, Possible._

"Lieutenant Jenkins, switch over to Rear Camera Alpha. Lieutenant Strong, stand by to cloak on my Command." She seemed to wait right until the wormhole closed, thus guaranteeing her already cloaked escorts had made it through. "Mark."

Immediately the bridge lighting changed, becoming darker and somber as the ingenious cloaking device was brought online. Woad knew that it absorbed a substantial amount of power. For the first time in Starfleet history, a Talon Star-Fighter Carrier was equipped with a cloaking device. _It's amazing how far we have come_ , he proudly thought.

Woad felt the pride emanating from Strong too based on her voice. "Cloak is operating under normal parameters. Per specifications, weapons, shields, and other extraneous systems are disabled. We are currently running on auxiliary power."

"Bridge to Engineering," the Commander called, ironically, from the Captain's chair.

"Engineering here. This is Lt. Commander Xames."

"With the cloak currently engaged, how much speed can we get?" Woad figured she knew the answer, but correctly guessed her desire to familiarize herself with the Chief of Engineering.

"With only auxiliary power, I can give you Warp 7.5, maybe Warp 8. I'm still adjusting the intermix ratios. Hopefully after a few months into our mission, I can have something better." The Denobulan replied.

"Thank you Commander. Keep me informed." _Oops. Getting a little eager with command, Possible?_ Woad's inwardly smirked at the complete lack of reaction from the bridge crew to her faux-pas. With the exception of V'Du, it seemed no one cared at the moment.

It seemed the Chief Engineer didn't as well. "Of Course Commander, Xames out." Woad could feel the Denobulan smile through the communication. _Are Denobulans always happy?_

Woad then observed Commander Possible turn back toward the helm, "Mr. Gralk, lay in a course for New Bajor, Warp 7.5. Lieutenant Jenkins, relay course and speed to the _Coyote_ and _Grey Wolf_."

"Aye sir!" Both responded appropriately. Woad continued to watch V'Du simmer in the Captain's chair, watching as his ship was being led and directed without any logical input. _I wonder when he'll pop?_

After reports of "Fleet acknowledges" and "Course laid in," Commander Possible gave the order to engage. That final remark seemed to break the Vulcan's back. Woad groaned. _Here it comes._

Despite how infuriated V'Du must have been, Woad was impressed at how smooth and nonchalant he rose from the Captain's chair to face his insubordinate XO. "Commander," he stressed in a steely cold voice, "only the Captain may issue orders for course deviation or speed reduction."

She didn't miss a beat, nor did she turn to face the Captain, instead letting her back do the talking. "Unless extraneous and unplanned events present themselves, Captain. Then, the current Officer of the Watch – in this case me – may make course or speed corrections in order to circumvent or rectify the situation. Commander Xames informed us that with our cloaking device activated, we cannot maintain cruising speed of Warp 8.5 or we risk overloading the Warp Core. Considering the safety of the ship as well as the low priority of our arrival time at New Bajor, I calculated the risk unacceptable and lowered our speed against your specified parameters."

Only then did she finally turn about to face the green-faced Vulcan who Woad would've swore that steam was coming out of his elvish ears. "But if you think that the decision was unwarranted, I offer the bridge to you so that you can correct my _illogical_ mistake."

Silence ensued.

No one dared to make any noise. Tension was filling the room so fast that it was almost impossible to breathe. Woad thought that not even Stoppable's katana could cut through it. The only sounds that were heard were the various beeping of the consoles or the swooshing of the artificial air circulating throughout the bridge. The distinct humming of the artificial gravity generator was the last sound Woad distinguished before V'Du made the knife plunge.

"Commander Possible, I relieve you of command." Woad figured V'Du wanted to do so much more than that. "Return to your station."

The Commander offered a crisp salute, but the smirk and glint in her eyes sucked out all the respect that it generated and left nothing but the disdainful personification of mocking. _Wow, and I forgot to bring my holo-camera. I should've also brought my Big-and-Gulp. Dinner and a show._

Just as Woad predicted, the Major appeared right by Possible's side as soon as she took her station. He again saw the impossible when Stoppable not only nodded respectively to her, but also saw the hinting of a prideful smile on his face. _A smile!? What the hell! Augments can't smile. They shouldn't have the emotion to smile!_

Stoppable must have heard his sharp intake of breath, because immediately the ghost smile disappeared and his brown eyes immediately swiveled towards the Lt. Commander. An involuntary shudder went through his body as he took in the tundra-cold, calculating, and piercing examination Stoppable performed on him. Unlike V'Du whose eyes showed nothing but contempt and inferiority, Stoppable's gaze exuberated a contemptuous, yet guarded aura.

Woad thought the corollary compelling. V'Du believed that nothing was a threat to his supposed Vulcan superiority, whether in strength of body or strength of mind. Stoppable on the other hand, who possessed not only twice the Vulcan's strength, but an enhanced mind for complex battlefield problem solving which would make a supercomputer jealous, considered everyone a threat, regardless of species, size, or position. He took everything with a grain of salt.

 _Except for the Commander_ , Woad thought. _He seems to trust her implicitly for some unknown reason. And now he has emotions too._ Suddenly, Woad was glad Stoppable had the sub-dermal transceiver within his hardened cranium. It would make it so much easier to keep an eye on him.

Again Woad was drawn out of his musings and fears, as was the Major who completed his unwanted threat analysis of the man who caught him smiling, by their esteemed and logical Captain.

"Bridge to Engineering." Captain V'Du called from his chair, having taken his seat once again.

"This is Xames. What can I do for you Captain?"

"Commander, prepare the Warp Core for increase to Warp 8.5."

Immediately, Woad observed the engineer's voice progress from jovial to concern. "But sir, I just informed the Commander that we can't hold that speed yet with the cloaking device activated. I still haven't determined the proper intermix ratio for the dilithium crystals."

"And need I remind you, Commander, that our presence is vital at New Bajor. We have already lost time due to our," he paused, glaring at Commander Possible, "speed correction. Now I calculate there is a 29.499% chance that a few systems may short circuit throughout the ship as we overstrain the Core, but they are necessary risks when it comes to our mission."

"Sir, 29.499% is awfully close to 30%, which Starfleet regulations clearly state as an unacceptable risk unless currently engaged in a combat situation. As Chief Engineer, I must officially protest this course of action, Captain. We can certainly lose a few hours or a day to our rendezvous if means sparing the ship – an unproven prototype I might add – the stress from an overheated Warp Core."

The debate continued much to Woad's astonishment. "As the risk factor is less than thirty percent, your official protest is illogical and void. Now carry out my orders or I'll have you relieved and confined to quarters."

 _Holy shit! Thirty percent chance of an exploding console._ Woad was starting to sweat now. _That is definitely not something he wanted to experience. What the hell is so important at New Bajor? The Commander didn't seem to have that urgency. It's almost as if…_ He flushed pale at the thought. _He's not trying to show up Possible, is he? His pride's going to cripple the ship._

Woad desperately wanted Xames to continue to fight for his position. The _Jackal_ was in uncharted space which was supposedly hostile to any new arrivals. Floating around in space with all of their systems disabled was like being caught in a shootout with their pants down. Despite his silent pleading, he knew the expected outcome.

"Very well," Woad heard the defeat in his voice, but still detected a small stubborn streak of pride. He guessed correctly. "But I want the log to show that I protested this course of action and offered any substitute action with lower risk value to arrive at our destination."

V'Du's voice was thick with triumph and judicious intent. "Request denied. Any problems that arise will be your responsibility to maintain and secure. You are the Chief Engineer. Don't shirk away from your duties." V'Du then cut the line and turned towards the viewer.

"Helm," he commanded with passionless disdain. "Increase speed to Warp 8.5. Unless you too wish to challenge my orders?"

Woad felt angry at the jibe towards the Tellarite. He knew Tellarites loved to argue. In fact, Woad had some amazing and spectacular conversations with the helmsmen regarding his Talon Fighters. But, Woad also knew that for anyone to argue against a Vulcan – no, _this_ Vulcan – would be subject to immediate court martial.

Which was why he then felt a warm sense of pride for Gralk's self esteem when the young lieutenant, instead of either challenging or acknowledging the order, turned his chair towards the SEFWAR Console of the Bridge and the eyes of Commander Possible.

The question was obvious. She nodded. With a smile.

The bridge then fell silent again. _Ah, hello tension. We meet again._ Only this time it was broken by Gralk, who immediately turned back to his navigation board and acknowledging the command. "Aye sir. Increasing speed to Warp 8.5."

Woad held his breath as Gralk swung his chair along the rails to the Warp Accelerator Panel on his Navigation Console. He watched as Gralk slowly advanced the digital slider up from Warp 7.5 to the guaranteed suicidal Warp 8.5. As soon as the fingers began sliding, the ship started to shake.

"Warp 7.75 Captain," The Lieutenant's voice was accompanied by many jitters of the deck platting.

"Warp 8.0 Captain," Woad observed the rest of the bridge crew begin to adopt worried expressions as shaking and jittering began to increase.

"Captain," Commander Possible called out again. "I'm detecting numerous power surges racing through the ship."

"Keep an eye on them Commander and address them as they occur." V'Du didn't even turn to face his XO. Instead he continued to bore his intimidating expression on the poor Tellarite. "Lieutenant, continue with the increase in speed."

"Warp 8.1" Woad noticed that Gralk didn't even acknowledge the command. He was too focused on his navigation console and the increasing warning lights and master alarms racing across his dash boards.

"Engineering to Bridge!"

V'Du didn't answer. He was too focused on the stars passing them by on the view screen. "More speed." He calmly commanded.

"Warp 8.2. Sir, I have a Master Alarm for three imminent injector overloads!" Woad heard the tense and almost frightened tremor in his voice.

"More speed."

"Engineering to Bridge!"

Woad was really worried now _. What the hell was V'Du doing? Sure he's an annoying prick, but he's not an incompetent Captain. Doesn't he realize he's about to blow up the ship?_

"Warp 8.3."

"Engineering to Bridge!"

"Captain!" Commander Possible shouted, "I'm detecting more power surges. There approaching the br…" She never did complete her sentence. All of a sudden, consoles around the bridge began to spark and overload. Crewman and officers were thrown back by concussive explosions all around them.

Woad watched astonishingly as Major Stoppable quickly grabbed the Commander by both arms and threw her to the ground with him on top of her as her own SEFWAR Console exploded around her. Woad was absolutely sure that if not for the Augment's superior hearing, Commander Possible would have been killed from the resultant explosion.

In the end though, she probably just received a mild concussion from being thrown to the deck and covered by the hulking Marine Commander and his thirty pounds of equipment. The Major on the other hand looked like wreck. His entire back was covered in electrical burns and shrapnel from the detonated console. The explosion was so bad that it pierced through his reinforced Kevlar Armor and Rhino-hide skin. Woad wondered if the Major would be paralyzed from the damage done to his back and neck. He wasn't moving, but that didn't mean he was dead. Augments don't die that easily. _He's most likely unconscious or just slipped into one of those Augment healing trances._

He wasn't able to comprehend and examine the damage any further because right then he heard the revved up whinnying of electricity of his own dashboard. He took a page out of the Marine's book and grabbed the nearest crewman and threw him to the ground hoping he was fast enough to escape the blast.

He wasn't.

His last thought before blacking out from the pain was comforting. _If we survive this, V'Du's so going to get the ax for this._

A/N:

 _So that's the end of Act I. Pretty deep cliffhanger huh? Well, I would have continued with the Scene, but it was getting a little too long. Good news is that I already have 2K words for ACT II. YAY! I hope that you enjoyed this sort of third character view of our two heroes. It sort of makes you feel like you are there as well._

 _I hope you can find the corollaries between my AU Star Trek and the KP Universe, and not just the names of the crew._

 _Again, sorry for the long delay, and here's hoping that the next update will not take so long._

 _See you next time._


	5. ACT II Part I

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Hey guys, here is the first scene that will jump off a bloody Act II. Keep in mind that a crucible forges the greatest of men and women, so we're going to be embracing problem after problem, but don't despair, we'll have a happy ending._

 _Thanks again for the kind reviews and opinions. They really make this enjoyable for me._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Rufus and Monique become closer buds and Star Trek would have a less plot armor and actual armor._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT II – PART I_**

The ringing almost made her pass out again.

Kim wasn't sure whether it was from the ringing of the alarms across the bridge or the ringing inside her head from the explosion that knocked her on her back. Two things were guaranteed though: she would have a major headache for the rest week. The other was that for now at least, she was content to just lie there with whatever the hell was on top of her keeping her down. Though the weight of the object was rib-crushingly heavy, she felt oddly safe and secure beneath it.

Whatever had happened to her, she couldn't remember. Trying to focus down the pain and the incessant ringing in her ears, Kim tried to focus on the events leading to her current predicament. She remembered standing at her station like a good little SEFWAR Officer keeping a close eye on her sensors of the ship, trying in futility to avoid the approaching train wreck.

She tried everything. She vented plasma to cool down the reactor. She shut down as many systems as possible, short of life support of course, to lighten the power demand on the warp reactor. Hell, she even disabled the cloaking device at the last second when nothing else appeared to be working.

It didn't matter.

The Warp Core was overtaxed. The intermix ratios of matter and antimatter were not calculated properly, despite the hard work of herself and Chief Engineer Xames. As a result, the most important piece of equipment on a starship was primed for overload. Only the quick acting of Xames performing an emergency shutdown on the Core managed to save the ship. It then fell to Kim to prevent the resulting feedback surges from ravaging the vessel and disabling the ship.

That didn't matter either.

Despite her quick thinking, despite road-blocking most of the surges throughout the ship, she couldn't prevent the main power surge from crippling the bridge. That resultant explosion, or rather explosions based on the obnoxious ringing she was still hearing, landed her in this predicament.

She was at a loss though. Just before everything went black, she saw how much feedback energy was headed their way. Even divided between all the consoles of the bridge, even on the low end of the estimated wattage delivered, the explosions should have killed her and anyone else near the consoles. It was a simple matter of math.

 _So why am I still alive?_

Something warm and sticky flowing from the anvil crushing her answered that question.

Stoppable.

 _He must have grabbed me before the station overloaded. But how could he have heard it?_ She then mentality snapped her fingers. _Right, his enhanced hearing. He must have heard the buildup beneath me and shielded me from the concussive wave._ She paused. _Wait, but that means…_

In an instant, Kim found the resolve and strength to open her eyes and wiggle out from under the unconscious marine who saved her life. Even though she was shielded from the blast, being thrown to the deck and crushed beneath the combination of pure muscle, weapons and armor bruised every single one of her muscles. They groaned in protest as she tried to get to her feet.

Kim obviously ignored them.

As she finally extracted herself from beneath Stoppable's toned body, Kim nearly vomited at the sight before her. The entire back of his body was ripped to shreds. Steel, glass, and wires were sticking out of his Kevlar armor, and cobalt-colored blood was gushing beneath the wounds. He had the bad appearance of a sick porcupine.

"Ron," she whispered, her voice full pain and sorrow. She immediately checked for a pulse, and her blood froze when she couldn't detect anything. She double checked, considering Trill physiology, and yet she couldn't feel anything. He was gone.

In that instant, it was as if the whole galaxy fell on top of her. A few tears escaped her eyes, despite herself. She didn't know why she felt like this. She just met him a few hours ago. She shouldn't be feeling this depressed or lost by his dead body. She certainly shouldn't have felt like a piece of her was dying with him.

"Get it together Possible, you need to get a grip and assess the damage." She chided herself, yet she couldn't turn herself away from his body. He sacrificed himself so that she could live. _Why would he do such a thing?_ she whispered to no one in particular.

She continued to kneel around his body, standing over him in silent vigil. She felt it her duty to offer a few moments of silent thanks and appreciation to her fallen comrade. She barely knew him, yet the loss seemed to be building within her. She couldn't understand why, but it felt wrong to leave him like this.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the twitching. At first, she believed it to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination, her mind merely in denial. And then she saw it again. His eyelids twitched. Hope began to fill the fresh void. _He's alive?_

Immediately she reached over to his neck and felt for a pulse again _. I've must have missed it. That must be why I couldn't feel anything._ Yet, after massaging his neck for next five minutes looking for the appropriate arteries and veins, she still couldn't locate a pulse. He was still dead, and Kim was becoming more confused by the moment.

The conflicting signals continued when Kim clearly saw Stoppable's lips tremble and eyes twitch again. "Wake up," she whispered illogically, hoping he could somehow hear her voice. Obviously, he failed to comply, aside from odd twitches around his body. Kim couldn't take it anymore. "WAKE UP!" She screamed.

Someone else answered.

"Commander?" came a whisper behind her. Kim turned around and, for the second time in the hours, gasped out from shock. There just twenty feet behind her was Lieutenant Jenkins sprawled on the floor with a huge gash along her once beautiful forehead. Her grey-shoulder uniform was torn and burnt, her right forearm was twisted in a ungodly way that symbolized a shattered humerus.

And she was still conscious. _Good on her_. Kim thought.

Thinking some space between her and the paradoxal marine would do her some good, Kim rose and limped over to the injured Communications officer, thankfully grabbing a med kit from her destroyed console beforehand. She pulled out a hypospray filled with some sort of numbing agent and injected it into the Lieutenant's neck. Immediately, Kim saw Jenkins relax and slowly unclenched her teeth.

"Thanks Commander." She breathed in relief.

"Of course Lieutenant. Can you walk?" Kim asked in reply.

"Yeah, I think so." Jenkins then noticed Kim's own condition. "Looks like you didn't suffer too much. You must have lucked out." Kim's posture sagged at the mention of her situation. "If only the major was that lucky," she murmured, ashamed at her lack of control.

"The major?" Jenkins asked, clearly confused. Kim watched as the injured lieutenant began scanning the room until she found the tattered man. Kim braced herself for the inevitable scream. She wasn't disappointed.

"Oh my God! Ron! What the hell happened to him?! He's covered in burns and shrapnel!" Jenkins started shaking and tears began filling her eyes as she took in the sight of the once proud and stoic marine now reduced to butcher's nightmare.

After Jenkins slowly got a hold of herself. "Is he dead?" she whispered, dreading the answer.

At the question, a brow formed on Commander Possible's head as despair and confusion mixed within her. "I'm not sure. I couldn't find a pulse anywhere, but his body is still twitching and eyes are reflecting someone in pattern REM sleep. I don't know what to make of it." She admitted, ashamed that as a SEFWAR Officer, she couldn't explain this scientific mystery.

"Sir, if you don't know, then you need to get him down to sickbay right now. They can at least stop the bleeding while they tear apart this _medical_ mystery." Jenkins exclaimed, obviously hearing the unspoken self-criticism.

At this suggestion, Kim shook her head. "I would, but look at the doors." They both turn their eyes to the lift station and their bodies both sagged simultaneously. In front of the sparking doors were two collapsed bulkheads, each weighing over two-hundred pounds. "It will take a whole team to move those bulkheads and another team to jimmy the doors open and get the lift working again.

"No, right now, we need to figure out what's still working on this ship." Kim noticed that the lieutenant was about to argue back, probably with some weird Communications acronym that she wouldn't understand, so she tried a different tact. "Monique," she whispered gently, "I understand your concern, and I will immediately get some help when we have the time, but right now, we have to make sure that we _all_ can walk away from this in one piece. Okay." She smiled gently to convey her sincerity.

She returned his smile. "Alright Commander, you win. But at least inject yourself with one of those hypos before your muscles collapse beneath you." _Oh good, her sassyness is back. Means she's on board._

"You don't have to tell me twice." She reloaded the hypospray with the numbing agent and accelerated healing agent and pressed it to her own neck. Just like the lieutenant, a wave of soothing coolness washed through her own body and her muscles began to relax.

"Much better," she whispered.

"F.G.D.I.?" Jenkins quipped."

Kim just stared at her. "What?"

"Feels good, don't it?" She clarified.

Kim shook his head, "Yeah, it does. Now, let's see what's still working." She lifted herself back to her feet, then gently lifted the ebony Communications Officer too while being mindful of her shattered right arm. The hypospray may have dulled the pain of the break, but it was still there, and Kim did not want to be responsible for increasing the required rehab time to fix it.

Silently, through the occasional sparks and groans of the smoke filled bridge, Kim guided Monique to her console which surprisingly was spared the damage of the massive power spike. Kim counted her blessings. "Thank God that out of all the stations, this one survived."

Monique nodded in agreement. "Damn right sir, at least we can talk to the rest of the ship as well as with the _Coyote_ and the _Gray Wolf_."

It was then that Kim and Monique noticed the blinking lights lighting up her console signifying COMM Requests. Kim shivered that there was a ten next to the engineering callout. _Engineering tried calling us ten times while I was out. God, how long have we been unconscious?_ Kim then noticed that many other decks and departments tried calling the bridge too. The Hanger Deck called five times, the crew quarters twice, the SEFWAR Department six times, Sickbay four times, and the armory only once.

A _ll right, no sense crying over spilled milk. That won't help anyone._ "Lieutenant, can we connect to Engineering, we need to figure out what's damaged and what's still left."

She nodded. She tapped her finger on the console and sent a call out to Commander Xames. "Bridge to Engineering." Nothing. "Engineering respond."

After a few tries, Monique and Kim finally heard something. "Bridge, is that you?" The voice was definitely not Xames. It was younger and more frightened, though there were some similarities.

Still though, Jenkins jumped on it. "Affirmative Engineering. This is Lieutenant Jenkins. Who am I speaking to, and where is Commander Xames?"

"Jenkins? This is Ensign Xim, Engineering down here is a mess. Commander Xames is in critical condition. He was hit by an overloaded injector just as soon as he was able to enact an emergency shutdown of the Warp Core. He saved all of our lives.

"I'm currently the only senior officer available. Everyone else is either dead, injured, or incoherent. Which is saying something seeing as how I'm the most junior officer down here, so I could really appreciate it if you send some help down here. I really have no idea what I'm doing."

Kim realized the kid was rambling so she stepped in. "Ensign Xim, this is Commander Possible, do you read me?"

She could almost visualize the blood draining from his face based on the high pitch reply. "C-C-Commander Possible?"

"Listen to me Ensign," Kim calmly addressed, "what I want you to do is take a deep breath and slowly let it out for me. Okay? Can you do that for me son?"

Kim and Monique both heard the slow intake and exhale of breath along the Communications speaker. After a few times of this, they both heard the calmness in his voice. "Okay, I feel a million times better, sir."

Jenkins smiled at Kim who whispered back, "works every time." She then turned back towards the console, "Okay Xim, now what I need you to do is find any working console down there and pull up the damage report screen. I need to know what we have available and what we don't."

"Aye sir." She heard the footsteps as Xim tried to locate a panel that didn't overload into a million pieces. "Okay…Okay I found one, stand by." A few more moments passed. "Okay, okay, okay, I got it. The damage report is up and I can see what's what…" Another pause. "Oh God…" Xim whispered.

"What is it Xim? What do you see?" Kim pressured gently.

"Everything's shut down. Weapons are downs. Shields are depleted, the Hangers are locked down. Even Life Support barely operable. We have only five hours before it completely shuts down too. Then we'll only have about twelve hours of usable oxygen left."

"The ship's bleeding to death." Kim whispered. _And you wondered how Jim Lowell felt during Apollo 13. Well here you go. Damn you fate!_

Kim then decided to take her own advice. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Despite the burning sensation she felt in her lungs from that exercise, she felt more calm and collected. _Now I can tackle this problem._ "Alright Xim, do we have any power left at all that we can salvage into Life Support?"

"Stand by, sir." She did. "That's a negative sir, with the Warp Core offline, we can't power any of our systems, and the polarities of the secondary batteries were reversed, which drained all of their stored energy. We don't have any power left."

Kim sank back into the chair behind her. _No power! We just got this ship, and now we have to abandon it. Damn you V'Du! All of the training these men put into their department, all of the flight time Woad's pilots put into this ship, all of the Talons produced to protect her from any enemies. All that power…_

"WAIT!" Kim screamed to nobody. She then noticed that Jenkins face was twisted into an amused expression with an eyebrow raised. Had they been in any other situation, Kim would've laughed at the similarities between Jenkin's and V'Du's eyebrow position. _But this is definitely not the time._

"Xim, can we get access to the hanger bay?"

A few seconds later, "Uh, yes Commander we can, why though?

"Because inside the Hanger Bay is all the power that we need." Kim was practically bouncing up and down next to the now relieved Communications Officer. "Think about it Xim, each Talon Fighter and Badger Gunship has a small Antimatter Reactor powering their systems. If we can tie each of their reactors together…"

"We can generate enough power to jumpstart our own Warp Core. Then we can salvage the ship."

"Exactly Xim. Get as many people as you can to work on the power transfer, I'll get the _Coyote_ and the _Gray Wolf_ on the horn to provide any assistance they can."

"Understood sir," Kim could now here the tingles of hope and promise in the young Denobulan's voice. It wasn't too out of place. Kim felt the same hope building within her as well. "Xim out."

After the COMM line was closed, Jenkins turned to the Commander, "Do you really think we can salvage this ship? You heard was Xim said, almost every system was wiped out by that power surge. Plus, almost the entire alpha and beta shift of Engineering was killed or injured. Those are some long odds."

Kim then glanced at dead/not-dead marine and thought about the unconscious officer before turning back to the Lieutenant. "If a marine officer can put his life at risk for a non-augment that he just met, then maybe, just maybe we can save the ship and witness a few more impossibilities."

All Jenkins could do was nod.

"Lieutenant, please get me the _Coyote_. They most likely have the tools and equipment that we need for this power transfer."

Before Jenkins could carry out the order, they both felt, not to mention heard, a massive metallic bang fill the bridge as the sound chased through the entire room. That sound was immediately followed by another. And another. Kim and Jenkins immediately covered their ears trying to mute the assault on their ears. The only bright side to this attack was that it woke up a few other officers and crewmen on the bridge.

After the ten loud bangs, the sounds stopped. Those that were awake cautiously looked around at each other, before turning toward the lift where the sounds originated. They quickly realized that was a mistake as a light with more intensity than the sun blinded them. Only after hearing the accompanying sound did Kim realize that they were plasma torches cutting through the lift doors.

"Everyone move away from the doors!" She commanded to the momentarily blinded, but still conscious crewmen and officers. As they slowly but sluggishly moved away, the classic Lightsaber circular hole in the lift doors was completed. After another pause, Kim and the rest of the bridge staff braced themselves for the next scene in their rescue act.

After hearing a muffled "Push," the circular piece of steel was shoved out of the lift. With the weight of the door and the warping induced by the plasma torches, Kim's mental list of people coming to rescue them was thinning. The identity of their saviors was confirmed with the tell-tale signs of gray cameos encased in Reinforced Kevlar Body Armor.

The first marine through the door was quick in his commands. "All right, we're in." After assessing the situation of the bridge, he turned to the marine who entered right behind him. "Corporal Pythra, secure the area and start hauling the injured and criticals to the winch and get them to sick bay."

Corporal Pythra gave a crisp nod. "You got it gunny."

Kim watched the large pinkish man bark orders to the ever increasing marines coming onto the bridge. She observed them delicately arranging the injured crewmen to specialized stretchers to be lifted out to the sickbay deck through the gutted lift station. After feeling as if there were more Marines on the bridge than Starfleet Officers and crewmen, the huge bald man turned towards her. "You in charge?" he asked.

Shaking off her befuddlement at being addressed in such a crude manner, she stood a little taller, hoping to intimidate the brute. "Yes, I am. Commander Kim Possible, Starfleet Navy. Who the hell are you?"

The big man smirked at her, before snapping to attention. "Gunnery Sergeant Ruuf, House of Mogh, Startfleet Stellar Marine Corps, at your command, sir.

 _House of Mogh?_ Kim thought. _That's a Klingon House. How can he be part of a Klingon House when…_ Her train of thought stopped when she examined the hulk of mass in front of her. At first glance, he looked like a normal human, if not bulky.

But at closer inspection, Kim saw the keymark features. She distinguished the subdued ridges on his forehead, the increased tinge of red due to the dark hemoglobin blood, and the sharp carnivorous teeth in that all present smirk. Though undergoing the Terran Marine Augment Gene Therapy, he was still every bit as Klingon as his House.

Kim nodded towards him. "So Sergeant, you have a situational report for me about the ship?"

Ruuf bared his teeth again in that smirk fashion again. "Indeed sir, three decks, primarily engineering and the armory, have sustained critical damage, the rest only minor. It seems," he scoffed at the unconscious and bleeding V'Du, who was also being carried out of the bridge, "that our esteemed bridge crew tried to run our brand new ship into the ground."

Kim bristled at that accusation. "Now wait just a minute, you can't blame the bridge for this situ…" She stopped mid-sentence. _Wait, we have to present a unified front. Besides, we all followed V'Du's order, so we are culpable._

Kim sighed, right now hating to be the bridge between departments. "You're right Sergeant, we made a mistake, but we are attempting to rectify it and salvage the ship for its return to the Alpha Quadrant. We could use any help you can provide to get the wounded out of here and any replacements in here."

Ruuf gave a crisp nod. Jibes about honor and self-sacrifice would have to wait. "Understood sir. Just tell us what you need, and we'll take care of it."

Kim nodded in appreciation. "Thanks Sergeant. Your current orders regarding the situation are adequate for now, don't let me step in the way." It was her turn to flash a grim smirk at the Sergeant _. God, do I feel useless right now._

"Gunny! We need you over here!" came the call from one the marine corpsmen.

Both Commander Possible and the Gunnery Sergeant ran over to where the corpsman was kneeling. Kim again felt the grief and hopelessness fill her chest again, as she once again saw the lifeless body of Major Stoppable. The only difference was that his cobalt blood was no longer gushing out of his wounds. _Must be the work of the Corpsman trying to give him some humility by cleaning his wounds._

"He under gunny," the corpsman addresses the Klingon, "but he won't last much longer unless we treat his wounds and get the shrapnel out of his body."

 _Under? Last much longer? What's going on?_ "Sergeant, is the Major still alive?"

Ruuf looked back at her as if she asked one of the stupidest questions ever. "Of course he's alive, you idiot…Uh, sir," he added at the end after noticing her glare. "He and I have been in much worse situations than this. He's just under right now."

"Under? What the hell does that mean?" Kim demanded in exasperation.

"Under. He's undergoing a healing trance. Part of the Vulcan physiology spliced into the Marine Augment Therapy." Ruuf explained.

"But he has no pulse," Kim insisted. "I checked. Repeatedly."

"I'd certainly hope so. Marine or not, he would be in a shit ton of pain if he wasn't under." As Commander Possible continued to glare at him, Ruuf relented. "Fine, when a marine goes under, he – or she," he added after getting yet another glare from Corporal Pythra," induces a near comatose state where the brain is basically shut down to prevent permanent damage due to a lack of oxygen. This state leaves only the most critical brain function, such as the signal to end the state, active so that outside healing can be delayed to a more suitable time. Case in point," he waves in the general direction of the hole in the lift where critically injured crewmen we're being hand-cranked up to the medical deck, "being rescued by yours truly."

"So," Kim asks, hope filling her up again, "will he survive?"

Again he gives her that look. "Of course he'll survive, he's a marine." _As if that explains everything_. She stared him down until he started squirming. "Oh all right, all right. I'm sorry. Damn Terran genes making me week in the knees to redheads," he muttered to himself. Kim forced down a blush to maintain posterity, though she was flattered that this bald monster of a man, who could no doubt put the fear of god into his enemies, shirk away from a five foot stick of a women.

"He'll survive. We got to him in time, thank Kahless. It's the permanent injuries that concern me."

"Permanent injuries?" Kim asked, dreading the answer.

He nodded forlornly. "Yeah, he took a lot of damage in the spinal area. He could be paralyzed, something even the serum hasn't be able to fix." Kim felt he was speaking from personal experience. "I don't know how much damage he received. The wounds themselves may be superficial, but if they penetrated his spinal cord, well…" He left the thought unfinished, looking down at his fallen comrade.

Kim let the silence fill the room before looking at the sergeant again. "Was he close to you?"

He looked at her again distractedly. "Yeah, we were close. Saved my life more than a few times. We fought together at Setlik III and Ashalla. We could always depend on each other. I'm closer to him than to my own twin brother. Then again," he snorted, "he decided to become a _security officer_ on a ship of _exploration_ , instead of a true warrior like _him_." He gestured to the Major as he was being carefully placed on a stretcher.

Kim didn't bother saying anything. The animosity between Starfleet security officers and the Marine Corps was legendary. She saw that this morning prior to the explosion. It seemed as if Stoppable wanted to tear off Woad's head and vice-versa. Having a brother – even worse, a twin brother – join their ranks must be seen as personal betrayal. Especially for a Klingon.

"If I may ask sir," Ruuf brought her out of her musings. His voice, unlike earlier, was quiet and calm. "How did this happen? How did he get himself into this situation? He's too quick, too smart, to get caught up in something as trivial as a console explosion."

Kim looked down. "It was my fault." Her voice cracked and a tear fell down her face as Ruuf turned towards her with a shocked expression on his face. "It was my fault," she repeated, feeling the emotion build up within her. And it was. Kim realized that now. She was to blame for this heroic man sacrificing everything to save her life. He did this to prove to her that he was more than just a killing machine or a weapon to be used and disposed off by the High Command and the Federation.

That confession, that admission robbed her off her final strength. She collapsed to her knees right in front of the Major and grasped one of his hands in hers. "It was my fault." She whispered over and over again as more and more tears began falling down her cheek. He may lose everything because of her. _V'Du was right_ , she thought _, I'm not capable of leading these men in the unknown. I'm not strong enough._

She didn't know how long she kneeled there cradling the Marine's hand just wishing he would wake up so that she could apologize to him for everything. She kept playing the situation over and over in her head, trying to think of a different outcome that didn't involve Stoppable from being blown halfway to hell. She failed every time. Her console would overcharge, Stoppable would grab her and shield her, and he would be caught in the flames and molten steel of the explosion. "It's my fault."

Kim was then aware of strong, but gentle hands grab onto her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. Looking up through her reddened and swollen eyes, she gazed back into the strong and comforting black irises of Ruuf. She could feel him transferring warmth, compassion, and strength to her. _That's weird_ , a small part of her mind thought. _Since when could augments show and display emotion?_ The rest of her didn't care, simply accepting it in droves as she struggled to get a hold of her composure.

"Now you listen to me, Commander," he sternly told her, his hands still supporting her shoulder, "don't you dare start blaming yourself for one second for the actions of this man. He chose to save you. He didn't have to. In fact, what he did is extremely frowned upon in the Corps. Marines aren't supposed to throw themselves into unwinnable situations like that. We're too hard to make only to waste ourselves in suicidal leaps. He saw something in you, something that made your life worth saving. You want my advice, don't waste it. He possibly gave up his livelihood to save yours. Use it and honor him with it. That's what I intend to do." He gave her one last smirk before letting her go to escort his fallen comrade to sickbay.

Kim absorbed the speech word for word. Ruuf was right, she would honor Stoppable's sacrifice. She would get the ship and its crewman – Starfleet and Marine – home. She would make him proud, because Ruuf was right, Stoppable chose her, and she would devote the rest of life honoring him and making him proud. No matter what happened to the Major's future, she would be there to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain.

Embolden by this determination, she caught a hold of herself and turned to the Sergeant as he made his way to the gutted lift that would escort him and his charge to sickbay. "Hey gunny," he looked at her inquisitively, "take good care of him. I expect him back on the bridge as soon as possible."

The bald Klingon shot her his signature smirk and offered his crispest salute. "By your command, sir!"

After the last corpsman and the last of the critically injured were escorted off the bridge, Commander Possible finally turned to a treated and medically-braced Lieutenant Jenkins eagerly waiting her next command. Kim smiled at her before getting underway.

"Monique, get me the _Coyote_. It's time to start salvaging this situation."

Jenkins grinned back at her temporary CO. "B.Y.C.S."

 _A/N:_

 _And we're off with ACT II. Lots of new character introductions. Can you see the corollaries between these characters and ones from the KP Universe. Be sure to review and let me know if you know whose going to be our chief medical officer._

 _Until next time, and remember, I feel so much happy and appreciated when you hit that little review button below. I know I shouldn't ask, but your comments seriously make me feel like a million bucks, not to mention that they also offer some cool ideas._


	6. ACT II Part II

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Hey guys, here is the second scene that will continue off a suspenseful Act II. Keep in mind that a crucible forges the greatest of men and women, so we're going to be embracing problem after problem, but don't despair, we'll have a happy ending._

 _Thanks again for the kind reviews and opinions, especially to Uberscribbler who pointed out some grammar mistakes to me that confused the story. Seriously, if you see any mistakes, comment on it, and I will fix it. You won't hurt my feelings._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have more Mr. and Mrs. Dr P moments and Star Trek would have more than one doctor on a ship with more than 800 people._

 _On with the Story._

* * *

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT II – PART II_**

To her experienced eye, she considered it ordered chaos.

But to Dr. Xanne, Fleet-Certified Surgeon with duel specialties in Xenoneurology and Infectious Disease, successful medical practitioner of the prestigious Starfleet Medical Institute, Associate Professor of Xenoneurolgy at the SMI, wife of three husbands, and mother of two (with her third husband) whom seemed to have inherited both her intuition of the sciences and their father's exponential imagination, she felt it was pretty much a normal Tuesday.

Not to say that Dr. Xanne dealt with death and near death experiences on a regular basis, but the stress and energy required to manage these situations was somewhat familiar to her. She remembered a time when the Andorian President was brought to her operating table with a severe case of…

"Dr. Xanne! We need you over here!" came a panicked voice. Dr. Xanne sighed _. I really need to stop with the past recollections_ , the Denobulan chided herself before moving over to the panicking intern who seemed to be sweating bullets.

Taking in the twitching and stained armpits of the jittery intern for a minute, Dr. Xanne remembered another intern – well resident, now – that her first husband always complained about. She always chucked at the crude nicknames he bestowed on the poor child whenever he screwed up and nearly killed a patient. Looking at her own nervous resident, the names _Pee-Pants_ and _Nervous-Guy_ seemed a decent fit for him too. Xanne wondered if the two were related.

Still, unlike her narcissistic and sarcastic first husband, Dr. Xanne felt that constructive criticism was preferable to senseless browbeating; however, Xanne had her own personal humor to add to it as well. _After all, I have to make myself laugh every now and then. Right?_

"Alright calm down, Katz before you give yourself a heart attack," she waited until he stopped twitching, "now tell me what's wrong with the patient."

"Well, uh… well, Crewman Murphy is uh… currently suffering from uh… plasma burns…" Xanne zoned out the stuttering intern before her to inspect the patient and determine his triage value. After a quick and thorough inspection, Xanne felt that he'll be fine with antibiotics and dermal regeneration, something that _Pee-Pants_ can adequately deal with. _Provided of course he finishes stammering through the list of problems that should've taken ten seconds._

By the time Xanne focused back on Katz's voice a-cracking, she realizes he was still stuck on the excessive bleeding and not the burns causing it. She snaps him out of it. "Katz!"

She observes Katz jump out of his terrifying staring and stuttering and focuses back on her. "Dr. Xanne?"

Xanne holds back a sigh. _Remember Xanne, everyone's teachable. Everyone's teachable._ She tells herself repeatedly. _Except for the idiots_ , came the repeated philosophy of her second husband in her head. This time Xanne does sigh. "Of course my _other_ narcissistic husband has to throw in his two cents as well. Can't limp one step without calling someone an idiot," she muttered. _Or compliment on my "rack" and other "assets",_ she mentally adds, forcing down a small blush _. Maybe that's why I married him._

As she observes Katz slowly falling apart again into _Pee-Pants_ mode again, she decides to give him a break. "Alright Dr. Katz, clean the burns with the dermal regenerator, and inject him with the appropriate dosage of antibiotics to counteract any latent bacterial infection. Can I trust you to do that?" Xanne mentally crosses her fingers.

Apparently, that was all he needed. With clear and direct orders, Katz immediately jumped back into the optimistic doctor that she had assigned to the _Jackal_. "Of course, Dr. Xanne. You can count on me."

Xanne nodded. "Alright Katz, I'll leave you to it." She turns away, but then decides to add on last thing. "Oh and Bernie? Don't let one superfluously injured crewman throw you for a loop, otherwise you'll never make it as a doctor _." That or your head exploding,_ she thought to herself remembering yet another anecdote from her first husband.

"Oh, you bet doctor. Sorry about that." The intern quickly rushed out, leaving to get the appropriate materials needed to treat his very first patient during a ship-wide emergency.

Xanne shook her head and chuckled to herself about wide-eyed interns. She moved over to another patient to check his condition, deeming surgery necessary to repair a nicked Femoral Artery. She signaled over a nurse to prep the poor crewman for field surgery and decided that one of her new surgical residents could use some experience dealing with a stressful situation while under threat from all around.

After the surgeon accepted his assignment and went to scrub up, Xanne hoped that the experience would help harden him and make him further detached to everything around him except for his patient. _A million things can happen in the middle of deep space, and the distraction of worrying about the goings on outside of Sickbay could mean the difference between life and death for your patient._

After inspecting and triaging the rest of the crewmen and officers that were able to make it to sickbay, Dr. Xanne took a second to stand back and analyze her medical bay and the fine staff managing it. Though a cutter in her own right, being the Chief Medical Officer of a capital ship, even one as small and new as the _Jackal_ , she had far too many responsibilities to be able to treat patients and conduct experiments.

Xanne went through her compiled mental list of necessities for this type of emergency. Make sure her staff of five attending physicians, ten residents, twenty interns, and compliment of nurses and orderlies were prepared – well, as prepared as they could be without so much as a warning to the current crisis. _Check._ Triage the patients. _Check._ Determine if all doctors and surgeons were adequately occupied based on their abilities. _Check._

Xanne smiled. With that out of the way, she started moving about the many operating tables and biobeds observing her well trained medical staff perform, offering suggestions and words of encouragement where necessary. Though both her first and second husbands considered it a waste of words, Xanne actually saw marked improvement from the younger and less experienced doctors after a little bit of justified praise.

Despite the calamity of the situation and not knowing what caused it, Xanne was feeling pretty good about their predicament. Life support was still active – though flickering at some points – and the backup antimatter generators allowed sickbay to be kept up and running even during a complete system wide power loss.

Looking around again at her staff, she noticed that even though some were showing signs of fatigue and stress, they were holding on, keeping up with their patient loads, applying their knowledge and expertise to their charges, and above all, keeping a level head. Even _Nervous-Guy_ Katz was becoming acclimated to the situation, especially with one of the third-year residents keeping him busy.

Yes, her sickbay looked disorderly, bloody, and panic inducing, but tempered by order and structure. It was truly ordered chaos.

That was why when the marines started arriving with injured crewmen from recently accessed areas of the ship, did Dr. Xanne neatly, efficiently, and calmly incorporated them to the assembled triage system at the entrance of sickbay.

Since her Attendings were either in deep surgery or treating patients with underlying causes, Xanne decided to enter to fray and lighten the load as much as she could. Seeing the two gold pips and one black pip one of the officers wearing engineering gold, she quickly realized her mistake.

"Oh my god," she whispered, taking in the battered, scarred, and bloody form of Lieutenant Commander Xames, her third, and favorite husband.

In a flash, all the training she has built up, all the experience she has gained, and all methods and philosophies dealing with detachment went straight out the nearest airlock. Xanne quickly rushed over to the side of her beloved as the marine corpsman laid him down in the designated triage center.

"What happened to him?" she shakenly asked the corpsman attempting to stabilize him as best as possible. She was so flustered and worried, that she didn't even notice a hulking figure step up next to her.

"He saved all our lives." The deep voice resonated to her. Hearing that declaration, Xanne tore her eyes away from her crippled husband toward the source of that voice. When her eyes zoned in on the figure, she quickly realized it was the Augment that Major Stoppable greatly favored. With her medical training in genetics and anatomy, she clearly recognized the subtle differences that classified him as Klingon.

None of that mattered right now as she attempted to ascertain what the hell happened to her husband. "What happened to him?" she repeated, "specifically?"

Sergeant Ruuf sighed, "I don't really know the details, but apparently the Warp Core was going to blow, and he performed some kind of manual shutdown before it could rupture. From what the corpsman told me, shortly after that he was caught in a major plasma explosion, hence the burns. Everything else is the result of that event."

The corpsman decided that was the appropriate time to interject her own opinion. "And right now," she stressed, "is he doesn't get into surgery, he's going to flat-line before we all have a chance to thank him. So if you can stop your staring and get to work, maybe we can go help some other heroes."

The huge sergeant growled menacingly at the corpsman for her lack of decorum, but Xanne didn't care. She was right. She was being extremely unprofessional by just sitting there holding her husband's hand while his precious life was slowly slipping away. Still though, clear head or not, she couldn't operate on him if she wanted to.

"I apologize, corporal, but I can't operate on him. I can't even treat him. It would be unethical."

Both the corporal and the sergeant look at her strangely, as if she had just grown two heads, though Xanne certainly couldn't blame them. She after all left out the reason for her inability. She figured it best to add that little tidbit before they _both_ started yelling at her. "He's my husband," she whispered to them.

The sergeant still looked lost, but the corpsman's look quickly changed to understanding and compassion. The corpsman turned toward her companion. "Doctors and surgeons aren't allowed to operate or treat any family relation, be it by blood or paper. They wouldn't be able to remain unbiased or detached, which would undoubtedly endanger the patient."

The corpsman then turns back to Xanne with a chided expression on her face. "I apologize for my behavior sir, I didn't know."

Despite all that's happened to her in that last hour or so, Xanne managed reciprocate with a smile. "No apologies necessary, Corporal…?"

"Pythra, sir," the Corpsman supplied.

"…Pythra," Xanne finished. "I was out of order, acting like a first year intern, but we can discuss how much blame to assign later. Right now, _Commander_ Xames," she stressed, attempting to distance herself from the situation with little success, "needs to be attended to. Take him to O.R. 2, I'll have Doctor Sumter's surgical team get to work immediately."

Corporal Pythra nodded, signaling to some nearby orderlies to assist her to carry out the order. "By your command sir," she added, before departing.

After that ordeal, Xanne felt physically and emotionally drained. All she wanted to do was sit and focus on her husband's condition. She wasn't a religious woman. Most doctors and scholars aren't, but right now, she felt like praying to whoever was listening to help her husband recover from his afflictions.

Xanne was so tired that once again she was caught unprepared for a calloused hand on her shoulder. She was partially proud that she didn't jump through the bulkhead from the shock, as she turned toward the huge Klingon who was shockingly displaying clear sympathy and warmth.

"Don't worry Doctor, your husband's in good hands. Pythra takes good care of her charges and hasn't lost one yet," he supplies.

At this, Xanne scoffs. "No offense sergeant, but Pythra's charges are usually marines who literally can't be killed. Xames is just a normal, weak Denobulan like the rest of us."

Xanne notices the sergeant's eyes briefly flare with raw defiance before he manages to restrain himself. As a scientist, Xanne filed that very un-marine event for later. "Don't underestimate the man, Doctor. I've known some strong non-Augments who've managed to come back from far worse than what the Commander has been through. He'll survive and save us all again later."

Xanne gives another weak smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He shocks the Denobulan again by smirking back. "Anytime doc."

In that moment, her scientific curiosity gets the better of her. "Forgive me sergeant, but you're not like the other marines I've dealt with. Some of them are even more detached than us surgeons. Only answering 'yes sir,' 'no sir,' or 'by your command sir.' You certainly are displaying and venting more emotions than a healthy augment."

Instead of another act of defiance or adopting a defensive stance that she expected, he simply shrugged. "I guess my Klingon blood prevents the suppression of my emotions. After all, I am the only Klingon in the Corps. They haven't had that many opportunities to apply the genetic therapy to my species."

He grins again, showing off his carnivorous teeth, "besides, I don't think I could live being a lifeless automaton _yesman_ for the rest of my life."

"I know I wouldn't be able to stand it, gunny," came the familiar voice of Corporal Pythra. Again, Xanne was shocked by the clearly emotional expressions on the corporal's face. Taking in Xanne's shocked expression, she added, "you might want to close that mouth before a fly lands in there sir," she grinned.

Now, more than ever, Xanne was lost. She had never seen banter between any marine before; although, she should've noticed it when they brought in her husband, but then again, she had other things on her mind. "How are you…?"

"Expressing emotion, sir?" Pythra finishes. Xanne nods. "You can thank Major Stoppable for that. After he was joined with that Symbiot of his, he's become more emotional and colorful than ever before. At first it was disturbing. After all, we were trained to be completely distrustful of emotion. You know," she explained, "give in to our base desires. Disobey orders, take over the world, plunge the galaxy into chaos. You know, the usual."

"We were suspicious at first." Ruuf added. "Even me, though I'm not proud of it. But after observing the Major continue to act for the greater good of Starfleet and the Federation and not take over the world like everyone expected, we started to become accustomed to it."

"And eventually," Pythra finished, "he began to rub off on us. The gunny over here," she elbowed him good naturedly, "started grinned and laughing more and more. The lieutenants started smiling and mingling with us grunts, and we all eventually started being more open with each other."

"But," Xanne started, "marines don't have emotions to express. The genetics should have seen to that?" She was baffled. Corps Command had repeatedly informed the SMI and Science Community that their soldiers were completely loyal to the High Command and the Federation through involuntary emotional suppression of its members.

Pythra shook her head. "It's one of the greatest unofficial misdirections in the galaxy. We still retain our emotions and feelings. It's just we're given the tools and training to suppresses them as well as a true incentive to want to suppress them. Those megalomaniac urges and desires are still within us, and we always have to remain vigilant."

"Except for the major," Ruuf adds. "Ever since he was joined, he has become even more devoted to the cause of the Federation. That drive and spirit must have completely expelled those base demons from within him. He may have a dark side like everyone else, but only to protect those he considers worthy."

Xanne soaks all of this in. _Emotional marines. Controlled emotional marines. This is worthy of a huge paper. I also need to have a huge talk with Corps Command about the misdirection they threw at us. They pretty much lied to our faces._ At further thought though, she realized it was probably for the best. _The people aren't ready for emotional super beings. Especially with the bad history of the Eugenics Wars._

Accepting that decision for the best, she turned back to the two marines who made her question everything that she'd learn from the Genetic Community. "Well, your secret is safe with me, and probably with the rest of the ship based on your successful rescue attempts." They both beamed to the praise. "Your Major has taught you well."

At the mention of their commander, they both realized something. "Shit," Ruuf cursed under his breath. Xanne, far too surprised by all the previous events, didn't really take exception to his vulgarity. "I just realized he hasn't contacted us since the incident."

Dr. Xanne noticed a pause in between their speech. For a couple of seconds, they just had a blank look on their faces. She wondered what the hell was happening. "He's not answering my COMM burst," Pythra announced rather suddenly.

"Mine neither," Ruuf added.

After she noticed the two exchanged extremely worried glances, she knew that things were bad. "What's going on?"

Ruuf turned back to her. "We just tried to contact the major. He's not responding." As Xanne's confused expression continued, he added, "sub-dermal transceivers." _Oh. That makes sense._

Xanne did a quick survey in her sickbay. Despite the influx of crewman and officers, her staff was performing admirably, especially with the extra assistance of the famed Marine Corpsmen. She figured that they had the situation well in hand. She then remembered something else.

"Sergeant," jumping back into that professional stature. "Why don't you take a team to the bridge? I noticed the Major walking with our new XO, and based on the suddenness of the crisis, he probably got caught up on the bridge with the rest of them."

"Excellent hypothesis sir," Ruuf replied, not missing a beat, "I also remember sending a readiness report to his wrist communicator earlier. The only reason he would need that is to present to the XO."

Seeming locked in on that train of thought, Ruuf turned toward the Corpsman, "Corporal, get your team together and head to the bridge. I'll assemble a Demo team to meet you there to clear away any obstacles."

Pythra nodded. "By your command sir." Before she left, she gave Dr. Xanne her very own crisp salute. "Honor to make your acquaintance sir." Xanne felt the sincerity in her words. _Did I just become friends with a marine? This day is full of surprises._

"Please," she responded in kind. "The honor was mine, best of luck getting the bridge, we've been trying to contact them, but haven't gotten through." Her gaze then fell on the burly Sergeant who seemed to assume de-facto control of the marine company while his Major was _in absentia_. "And to you too, sergeant."

Ruuf then bestows upon her his own salute and biggest smirk yet. "Oh, we'll be seeing you again soon, doc. Count on that." She smirked in return before returned to her sickbay and her struggling doctors as the two very interesting marines left. _If the Major is anything like those two, this actually may be a fun voyage._

After their little discussion, Dr. Xanne quickly fell back in the whole Chief Medical Officer Routine. She admitted and discharged patients, observed treatments, offered encouragement to nervous or tired doctors, and overall, just stood off to the side watching her team perform with the precision necessary in the medical community.

Loss of life was expected, as death was no stranger to Sickbay. Based on her observations, they had so far lost ten crewmen and two officers. She breathed easier when she noticed that the Chief Engineer was not on the list of casualties. She should have felt guilty at the realization, but couldn't care less. _He may not be out of the woods yet, but for now he was stable and on the road to recovery._

After "treating and streeting" a few more patients, she got her next big surprise. The intercom rang with an extremely familiar voice. "Attention crewmen of the _Jackal_ , this is Ensign Xim, stand by for Warp Core restart." Xanne stuttered again in step.

It was her son.

Based on the duty schedule, Xim wasn't supposed to be on duty, so he was probably spared the explosion. Still though, she realized that even if technically off-duty, he would be called to action during a crisis. _Of course Xim would jump to help the ship in any way possible. It's in his nature to help, just like his father._

However, it didn't help the fact that her son, and probably his brother Zim were probably in the most dangerous place on the ship attempted to jump start their Warp Core. She knew it was necessary for their survival, but did it have to be them doing it?

In the next instance, the ship shook a little as power came rushing through the ship as the Core was cold started. A few panels sparked and flickered as the power quickly ran to their destination, but were minimal compared to their results.

Xanne and the rest of Sickbay observed in marvel as undamaged system slowly started activating again. The emergency lighting was replaced with main power. Flickering monitors and the such came back to full capacity. And blessedly, the air condition and circulation activated once again. Everyone was mostly grateful for the last one.

 _They did it._ She thought with pride. _My baby boys did it._ She felt like doing a twirl at their accomplishment. She has never have felt such pride for the men in her life. She also wanted to kill them for jeopardizing themselves like that to be heroes. She decided that once this situation was resolved, she was going to make sure they realize the personal consequences for scaring her out of her mind.

She was once again pulled out of her train of thought as the marines came back into sickbay with some more navy crewmen and officers. _How many people were injured in this disaster_ , she asked herself. So far, they have treated over a hundred patients for burns, console explosions, and other trauma related incidents. She wondered who was left to help repair the ship. When she saw two corpsmen carrying their unconscious Captain in, she realized their situation must be dire.

She also figured that she had to deal with him personally. He was the captain after all.

She directed the two marine corpsmen carrying Captain V'Du to a biobed and began examining him, keeping in mind that as soon as he awakes, he'll immediately head straight to the bridge despite her claims to the contrary.

It was a common trait that all Captains seemed to possess. It's like they have an aversion to her sickbay and that somehow, she keeps them from performing their duties. Though in their defense, Xanne did medically confine then-Commodore Barkin to his quarters for three days after he spent a week – without much sleep or food she might add – coordinating the Seventh Fleet at the Orbital Siege of Bajor. _He was one pissed off Andorian, that's for sure._

Shoving that thought aside, Dr. Xanne took account of the injuries V'Du sustained through whatever crisis occurred. Unlike many of the injured, his body wasn't covered in that many plasma burns, but he was losing a lot of blood. She decided to hit that first.

Directing one of the nurses to retrieve a few bags of Vulcan blood, she had her intern place an IV and set up her specialized tools so that she could begin to treat the burns. It took ten minutes, but finally the blood flow was stemmed, and the dermal regeneration was placed. As soon as his Vulcan physiology could compensate for the new skin grafts, he could be awoken and discharged.

Knowing V'Du, Xanne figured that would take five minutes, and then he would immediately flee sickbay as if they were treating plague victims. She let the interns finish up the regeneration and stitches, while she went and performed another sweep around the area.

Xanne was about to prepare for yet another sweep of her once pristine sickbay and ragged doctors, when the familiar faces of Ruuf and Pythra caught her eye. Moving over to them to ascertain the condition of the bridge, she came to a sudden stop when she noticed the charge on their stretcher. He was extremely pale from loss of blood. He didn't look like he was breathing, and his back was so torn to shreds that she was absolutely sure he was paralyzed in some form or another. That still didn't stop the realization from spreading to her face.

It was Major Stoppable.

"Good Lord," she whispered. She didn't bother asking if he was alive, because if he wasn't then the two would never have brought him here. Shoving any personal feelings toward the man, she turned toward the nearest nurse. "Get my O.R. prepped and assemble my personal surgical team."

The nurse nodded and went to locate the doctors and interns that would help save this man's life. Xanne knew that some of them would have to be pulled from whatever current surgery they were performing, but that didn't matter to Xanne. _If this marine dies, Corps Command will have my ass, not to mention that this marine company will be leaderless for the rest of this mission._

She then about-faces toward the duo. "Take him to O.R. 7." They also nodded. Before they were out of earshot, she added, "Corporal Pythra, you're assisting me."

The corpsman's eyes widened at that, but she didn't question it. "Understood sir."

Xanne nodded, then went to scrub up herself. As she was washing down her hands and arms, she kept playing through the procedure through her head accounting for every move, every problem, every anomaly that could occur.

The procedure itself created a new level of stress that even Xanne was unfamiliar with. After being informed that Stoppable was under a variation of the Vulcan healing trance, she knew that she had to be particularly aware of any nerve endings in his back. Any disruptions could end the trance, which would kill him.

Getting into his body was going to be the first major hurdle. Part of the Genetic Therapy was the hardening of the skin. After therapy was complete, a marine's skin had a density almost as thick as concrete. So it was no shocker that all the scalpels failed to break the skin. If they couldn't open the wounds to get to the injuries and broken vessels, he could bleed out, which would kill him.

Getting the shrapnel out was another problem as well. This was the one time that Xanne cursed the rapid cellular regeneration of the marines. His tissue was starting to fuse itself to the shrapnel embedded in his back. If they don't remove it quickly enough, it could become surrounded by tissue and cause Metallosis which would kill him.

Another problem wasn't technically part of Stoppable. Miraculously, the Symbiot survived the explosion mostly intact, aside from some bruising caused by the blunt trauma of the fall; however with the major loss of blood, the Symbiot was basically being starved of its nutritional supplements that the Trill body provides. If they don't restore blood flow as soon as possible, the Symbiot may reject the Major's body, which would kill him.

And finally, the repeated attempts to break into his body will cause a reflexive response from the Major. A few nurses and interns could be knocked out cold from the wild swings that could be at them. Xanne knew this beforehand, and that was the main reason Pythra was here. Her enhanced strength could help mitigate the wild crosses and slugs from pummeling the people that were trying to save him. Not to mention that with every swing his body makes causes more exertion to his already damaged body. If it doesn't stop, he could stress his body in tachycardia, which would kill him.

 _So many ways to kill him. So little time to save him._ She thought morosely. Realizing where her train of thought was leading her, she snapped herself out of it. She would save him. She had the best team, the best materials, and the best mind to do it. Odds be damned.

She would save this unique individual. She had too many questions left unanswered.

Her musings were soon seen as prophetic. There were a few times that they thought they lost him, but a few clicks with the defibrillator brought him back. They ended up using all of the Trill blood they had on stock to fill him back up. "You better not need any more, because we are all out my friend," she told him.

Corporal Pythra snorted at the jibe. "Oh don't worry about that, doctor. Give him some Mexican food and he'll be fully ready to help replenish your stock. This guy eats like no other." That earned her a smile from Xanne and some slack jaw expressions from the interns and residents around her.

Before her staff could comment on the exchange, Xanne cut them off. "Alright, he's stable, and based on the healing of his scars, his regeneration has kicked into overdrive. Dr. Cole, transfer him to Post O.R. and hook up the appropriate IVs. Good job to all of you. I hope that you all learned something about the Augment body today."

"Yeah, duck," one of the residents muttered with a shiner starting to form.

"And to never do this again without the appropriate equipment," one of the nurses added. She was covered in cobalt-colored blood from trying to stint a nicked blood vessel, only to find that the tool snapped after she tried clamping it. She ended up holding her finger there for the whole procedure until a regenerator unit was brought in.

Xanne nodded at their comments. "Very true, but that's crisis management. In moments of emergency, you won't have the time to fully prepare for a procedure," she explained, looking at the nurse, "or duck," now looking at the resident, "or even adapt to any curve balls thrown your way," she finished with Pythra, "even if they aren't medically related." She was happy to see a genuine smile appear on the corpsman's face. She then laughed as her staff's jaws collectively dropped once again.

"Alright, get him out of here, clean up and prep for your next surgery. We still have a lot of patients that need our assistance."

As the tired surgeons and surgical nurses left, Xanne realized that Pythra was still in the O.R. "Something wrong corporal?" she asked gently.

"I just want to say thanks for believing in me enough to let me assist you. Most doctors and scientists consider us an abomination that they barely tolerate. To be treated as a normal person, especially when someone I care about is lying on that table. It felt nice to be needed by someone outside my company."

Xanne understood. She too was wary about the Augment Procedure and Genetics in particular. The more extremist within the medical community condemned the Augment Advisory Board as lunatic megalomaniacs attempting to play God. Xanne didn't feel that strongly about the Corps, and she was glad for that, because after meeting three of them, and she already considered them friends, even if one of them was unaware of it.

"Again, no thanks are necessary, Pythra," she responded, looking into her stormy gray eyes. "You've certainly challenged my preconception towards Augmentation, though his improvements did make surgery a little difficult," she playfully added. "I look forward to meeting him in person. If he's anything like you, my dear, I'm sure we'll become good friends."

"You won't be disappointed sir. He changed all of our lives," the brunette declared, her winning smile back on her face. "For the better I think."

"Of that I have no doubt," Xanne responded in kind. "Now, let's go see if sickbay hasn't fallen apart in our absence."

"By you command sir," was the expected response.

As the two made their way to the triage center, they were both assaulted by Dr. Katz in full _Pee-Pants_ mode once again. "Uh, Dr. Xanne, uh… we might uh… we might have a problem."

Xanne stifled down a sigh as she took in the intern who was literally one step away from wetting himself. "What is this time Nervo- I mean Bernie?"

"Its uh… It's uh Captain V'Du. He woke up, and he uh…. he sort of… uh…,"

"Out with it boy!" Pythra commanded, to the surprise of Katz and the amusement of Xanne.

"He left, sir."

"What?!" Xanne shouted, though she shouldn't have been surprised. He is the Captain after all.

"Y-yes. He uh, he left. I tried telling him that uh… he uh, had to stay for observation… but uh, he sort of," he swallowed loudly, "shoved me to the ground, and uh… threatened to arrest me too."

"Does he not realize that his skin grafts need time to integrate themselves to his body? If he doesn't get back here immediately, he could catch a secondary infection," Xanne groaned.

"I uh, tried to umm tell him that… but uh, he said umm… that he didn't care. When I insisted, he uh… told me to get out of the way."

"Why?" Xanne asked, flabbergasted that the captain, who usually kept the coolest head that she knew, resorted to shoving a poor intern to ground and threatening him with arrest. She then realized what Katz fully said.

"What did you mean when V'Du said 'arrest you too?'" she asked, dreading the answer.

"He, uh… said that all of uh…. this is uh… Commander Possible's fault, and uh… he needed to go and uh… arrest her for uh… insubordination and mutiny."

"MUTINY!" both Xanne and Pythra screamed.

"Y-yes." Katz whimpered, wondering which woman scared him more, the superwoman or her boss.

"Shit," Xanne cursed, not caring who heard her. She then turned to Pythra. "Is Possible guilty?"

Pythra vehemently shook her head. "Absolutely not, sir. In fact, according to the bridge staff, it was a combination effort between her and Commander Xames that managed to save the ship and most of its systems. She should be commended, not arrested."

Xanne nodded. "Well then, go up to bridge and see if you can stop this train wreck. I'll remain here and…" she was cut by a huge shake that rocked the entire ship.

"What the hell was that," some of the doctors shouted.

Xanne looked at Pythra, who looked equally confused, that is until they heard the ominous pulse of energy followed by another shaking of the ship. Xanne saw the dread filling up in Pythra's face before the COMM lit up. "Red Alert, all hands to battle stations."

The ship shook again as more pulses continue to hit the ship. Even Xanne knew the _Jackal_ was in no position to fight, let alone flee. "We just got caught with our pants down, huh?"

"Affirmative sir," Pythra replied, cursing at their lack of preparedness. It was then, that Xanne saw her friend disappear, leaving only the harden marine trained for this environment. "Lock down sickbay and get the critical patients far away from the entrance. We may have to repel boarders."

It seemed those words were prophetic too. As soon as the words left Pythra's mouth, the doors were blasted open and the largest brutes who even eclipsed Ruuf barged into Sickbay, their disrupters aiming menacingly around. What was completely shocking however, was the green skin. They were cowering before a species that supposedly went extinct.

Because strutting into Sickbay were five Orion Warriors.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Well how about that for a cliff hanger. Don't worry, I got really into this scene before I realized that it was over 6000 words long, so the next update shouldn't take so long._

 _So, what do you think of my Mrs. Dr. P. lookalike? In case you didn't know, Denobulans have three wives and each wife has three husbands. Talk about a family get together. If you can figure out who are Xanne's two other husbands, I will love you forever._

 _Also, I'd like to hear what you think about my O.C. character. I had a fun time writing her, and would like some feedback. Also, please mention any grammar mistakes you find and I will fix them. Thanks._

 _Until next time._


	7. ACT II Part III

_A/N: Hey guys, KPRS Splicer is back._

 _FYI, this will be the final scene in ACT II, and its going to be the worst point the crew of Jackal's going to get. Crucible and all that. But keep an upper chin, it will get better._

 _Thanks again for all the reviews. They really make writing this more enjoyable. Knowing that you guys are out there waiting for me to continue with this, gives me the push I need to sit in front of this computer and type instead of playing Fallout 4 all day long. So thanks again and keep them coming._

 _Now for the legal BS. I don't own Kim Possible or the Star Trek Franchise. If I did, Wade would have his own episodes, and TNG would explain their technical mumbo jumbo a little better._

 _With that out of the way, on with the story._

 _Kim Possible and Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_

 ** _ACT II - PART III_**

 ** _By KPRS Splicer_**

The sound of the ship screaming in agony woke him up.

It honestly wasn't that surprising. The one thing that Lieutenant Commander Woad hated more than the Marine Augments was when his precious carrier ship was under fire - well, under fire and losing of course. Hearing the screeching and moaning of the deck and hull plating, hearing the medical docs foot steps frantically running all over Sickbay screaming some medical mumbo jumbo was enough to force him into consciousness - to the complete surprise and horror of the intern assigned to his care.

Woad didn't particularly care that much about the young pup at the moment. That wasn't to say that he wasn't concerned about the well being of the crew members of the _Jackal_ , its just that he had other things on his mind at the moment. Too bad the kid wasn't on the same wavelength. Woad quickly found that out when he tried forcing himself out of the biobed and removing his IV Line.

"Commander Woad!" the young intern, Dr. Read if his vision proved correct, cried out. "You need to lie down, sir."

"The hell with that, girly. I've got bigger fish to fry," he choked out, trying too stop his head from swimming. That only resulted in his building headache to increase in strength twofold.

"But sir," the blond girl protested, "you're suffering from numerous injuries." Woad then tried to listen as the shrieking intern stammer through some long list that he immediately forgot once the words left her mouth. "You have a shattered left ulna, three cracked ribs, numerous contusions, plus, an ungodly number of electrical stings that knocked you into a coma."

After she took in a deep breath, Woad saw the stressed out intern's eyes increase to the size of saucers at the mentioning of the word coma." Of course, the coma part might be a little premature, seeing as you are currently awake and not passed out dead to the world, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong about the rest of your condition."

In any other situation, Woad would have found her babbling amusing, but having your beloved ship falling apart around you kinda ruined the mood. The roaring headache didn't help much either. So it wasn't shocking that Woad responded in his typical manner when in a hurry.

"Look sweetheart," he began in his deep patronizing voice. He quickly realized that was a mistake when he observed her tensing at the sexist presumption. At the moment though, he didn't care. "All that matters at the moment is for me to get to the bridge and save what's left of this ship, so be a good little girl and fetch me something for this worsening migraine before my head explodes due to your shrill voice!" he roared, his voice rising as he went.

As if emphasizing his command, the ship groaned once more to the increasing amount of weapons fire grazing the ship, followed by the appropriate exploding consoles and panels from all over Sickbay. At that observation, Woad realized that the _Jackal_ was far up shit creek. If Sickbay's redundant systems were being overtaxed, then they were really in trouble.

Woad turned to look at the trembling intern who he just scolded when he realized she was frozen on the spot. At first he thought it was from the tongue lashing he just gave. Before he could begin to form an appropriate apology, he noticed she wasn't looking at him, but at the five out-of-place intruders who just barged into the opening of Sickbay.

Woad did a double take as he realized that not only were the intruders armed with wicked looking disrupters, but they also possessed tattoos and emerald skin coloring that defined them as Orions. That's impossible, Woad thought, they're supposed to be extinct.

It wasn't long before these supposed fossils quickly seized the situation. They started shooting off their disruptors into the ceiling of the room, attempted to get everyone's undivided attention. "NOBODY MOVE!" the big ugly in the center screamed.

Woad, his headache still crippling could do little but comply. In his current condition, without the hypospray that would numb his injuries or dispose of this annoying headache, he could only sit back and observe as the Orions advanced in a crude arrow head formation knocking around trays, tables and carts, shooting their weapons like some old cowboy film, and intimidating their enemy into submission as quickly as possible.

Despite his injuries, he could at least protect one of the poor young doctors who had no experience in a fire zone. He quickly grabbed hold of Dr. Read shoulders so that she focused completely on him. "Listen closely..." He forced a calm expression on his face to help the situation. "Get behind me and inject the appropriate hypospray into me so I can focus without distraction, alright?"

It definitely helped her. Woad saw Read numbly nod and moved behind him to carry out his simple orders. While she hid behind the biobed assembling the necessary chemicals, Woad turned his back to her, using his huge muscular body to screen her from the other hulking invaders.

When the mayhem finally subsided, Woad watch butt-ugly leader number one address the crowd. "Alright, now that I have your attention, we're going to be making some property acquisitions." Woad froze in horror as the meathead turned to his gang, "Round up the what the mistress requires. Women first."

Woad desperately wanted to do something, but until the panicking intern give him what he needed, he was fresh out of luck. As such, he could only watch in agony as the brutes slowly inspected the various and grabbed the various women around Sickbay. Woad, who was not ignorant to the history of the Syndicate of old, knew exactly what attributes they were looking for.

"Hey you two!" one Orion shouted. "Don't move and stay right there!"

Woad turned his head onto whoever had drawn the ire of the pirates and his face lost all color. The Orion was shoving his way right towards Dr. Xanne and her assistant. Woad thought the assistant looked familiar, but he knew Dr. Xanne fairly well, back when he was developing new and modern telecommunication methods with the xenoneurologist. She was definitely not someone he wanted converted into a comfort lady.

Finally though, Dr. Read manage to assembled whatever connection was required and Woad felt the prick of the needle pierce his neck. Immediately, a soothing and cool refreshing feeling washed over his body repressing the pain of his injuries and driving his headache to the back of his mind. The soothing sensation almost made him miss something that would forever be retained in his memory.

"You will make fine additions to mistress's needs. I may even keep you two for myself," he bragged, reaching out to grab the two women's arms and drag them to growing pile of scared women. In that moment though, Woad witnessed the gray-eyed assistant throw a hard right underhand-cross straight at the solar plexus of the Orion. The movement was followed by three backhand jabs straight into his gut.

Even from faraway, Woad heard the loud cracking sounds of his ribs breaking. The Orion gasped out, green blood already trickling down his mouth, before doubling over in pain. Woad watch the assistant calmly snatch up the falling disrupter pistol.

As the Orion's friends turned to see what was causing all the commotion, Woad observed the assistant, whose eyes he noticed darkened to steely gray, use the incapacitated body of the Orion as a shield to efficiently and precisely land a single disruptor blast into the skulls of each Orion.

Almost at the same instant, four bodies dropped to the ground, dead and no longer as threatening as they once appeared to be. Woad noticed the remaining Orion could care less, seeing as how his collapsed ribcage was literally crushing his lungs. The assistant didn't help as much when she forcefully kicked his crushed chest to the ground and trained his relieved disruptor right back at him.

"Now that I have your attention," the assistant spoke out for the first time, her cold emotionless voice sending shivers down the backs of everyone, including Woad's. "You have 10 seconds to explain who you are and what your purpose is here."

 _There's no way that women is a doctor_ , Woad thought, _no way possible_. He then winced when the Orion, probably delirious due to the pain, spat into the woman's face followed by a string of Orion profanity that the Universal Translator couldn't distinguish. Woad figured the assistant took it well. She gripped her disruptor and shot the poor bastard in the leg.

"Five seconds," she deadpanned, somehow managing to be heard over the screaming of the Orion wallowing in pain.

It seemed that was all the encouragement he needed to confess to everything he could think of. "Okay! Okay! Okay! My name is Ral T'Saar, humble merchantman of the Gogh Clan of the Orion Syndicate."

"And what is your purpose here? Three seconds."

"No! No, please stop counting! We saw your ship adrift in the Omicron Nebula! Okay? No ship manages to survive the nebula for long. We thought whoever crewed the ship was dead. We were sent over to...," he paused, "...salvage what was left."

Woad, who finally found his voice, not to mention his legs, marched over to the injured Orion. "And you thought that kidnapping for slavery was the same as salvage rights?" he roared.

Woad was further infuriated when the Orion, who looked ready to pass out out of fear from the five-foot petite small girl in front of him turned and gave him something of an arrogant and cocky grin. "We are in the Omicron Sector. Here the only law is the law of the strong. We saw a target and we acted accordingly."

"Well now, you get to experience Federation Law," Woad retorted.

The Orion bastard had the audacity to smirk at him. "I doubt it human. You may have defeated my squad, but your one ship can't outfight our five, especially with yours at its current disadvantage." He spluttered a bit at the end, spitting out some blood onto Woad shoes as a final insult.

Woad resisted the urge to throttle the pirate, and instead turned towards the two women. "Xanne, you might want to tend to his wounds before he dies on us. We may need to bargain his life for ours later." Dr. Xanne nodded and signaled towards two other nurses to help the savage to a biobed. No one noticed the Orion sticking his hand into his right pocket and activating a small device.

Woad turned toward the assistant who still had the surgical mask on her face.

"I don't think any doctor on Xanne's staff has the training or strength to do what you just did, so I know you are not part of her department. You want to tell me who you are and what your doing here."

When the woman lowered her mask and Woad saw the neck tattoo of a raven crossed on both sides with two katanas, he took a step back. "What the hell are you doing in surgical gear, marine?" He commanded, all of a sudden angry that a marine, instead of his own security teams, saved their collective asses.

"Sir! I was called to assist in the surgery of Major Stoppable! Sir!"

Xanne answered his next question before he could voice it. "We needed to perform an extremely invasive surgery on Major Stoppable, and Corporal Pythra was the only one capable of holding him down," she calmly informed him.

 _Right, the defensive reflexes,_ he realized. Still, that did little to styme his aggression. _Out performed by a marine again. Dammit. Its bad enough that they were put on this ship as a supplement, but to be continuously outperformed by a bunch of juiced up robots. God, this is embarrassing._

The ship rocking under more weapons fire drew him out of his frustrating reverie. He knew he had to shove aside his prejudices to the robot if she was going to help him get to the bridge. "Alright. Pythra, attire aside, you and I need to get to the bridge to help whoever is in charge save what's left of the ship, okay."

He saw Pythra's eyes lose some of the cold they held previously as she ran through what was necessary to achieve that objective. Not surprisingly though, it was the doc who objected to his decision - a doctor whose voice he was painfully intimate with.

"Oh no, you don't!" Dr. Read spoke up, coming up from behind the bio-bed where Woad once laid. "Just because I pumped you full of morphine and other pain suppressants, doesn't mean you are fit to return to duty. Get back to the bio-bed." She commanded, though her high pitch squealing sucked all the authority out the word.

Woad sighed. Nothing ever seems to comes easy. "Look doc, I appreciate your concern, but if I don't get back to the bridge, there won't be any biobeds left. Not to mention, there are probably dozens of Orions unaccounted for throughout the ship."

Then, Woad got another surprise for the day. "Doctor," the calm voice of Corporal Pythra called out, "if you are concerned with the Commander's health, you may accompany us to the bridge. In fact, there are probably other crewmen and officers who may require your assistance as well."

Woad then lets a small smile show on his face at the doc's reply. "Oh sure, follow the merciless killer who just put four guys into the morgue and nearly killed the fifth guy without even blinking. What could ever go wrong with that idea?"

"Read!" Woad heard the admonishing tone of Dr. Xanne. "That merciless killer just saved your life and preventing a fate worse than death. Give her the respect that she deserves." At seeing the intern's humbled expression and the pride in the marine's eyes, Woad fell further in the twilight zone. A healer and savior of life praising the ultimate killing machine. Woad's head started to hurt gain.

"In fact, the corporal's idea has merit. The attendings and I can't leave our patients, but the bridge probably needs some medical assistance with all the attacks we suffered from. Read, Katz, and T'Pel, head up with Commander Woad and Corporal Pythra to the bridge and offer whatever assistance you can. Stay close to the marine and do exactly what Commander Woad says."

The Denobulan then turned her bright blue eyes toward Woad, and all of a sudden he felt like he was in the principal's office. "Woad, I know that you feel that the Corps stole your ideas and inventions, but you can't blame the marines for that. Those miracles and innovations you and I helped developed, they gave these marines the tools necessary to defend Starfleet and the Federation. Try to remember that as you work together with Pythra. She's not the evil monster you've painted her out to be."

Woad then watched Xanne stride over towards Pythra and gave the marine a gentle hug, despite the Denobulan abhorrence to physical contact. "Thank you for saving us from those Orions. My grandparents grew up with the Syndicate breathing down their necks, so I can attest to how dangerous they can be. Take good care of my doctors and try to understand where Woad is coming from. He's a good man, and a fine officer."

Woad observed his third impossibility for the day, when the marine corpsman returned the hug warmly with a small smile. "Of course, doctor, and thank you for your friendship and praise. You can trust me to take good care of your men."

"Ah-hem!" Dr. Read grumbled.

Woad smirked and leaned over next to intern. "Its no use doc, marines can only say 'sir' and 'men,' despite our supposed progressive era."

Woad noticed that both Xanne and Pythra chose to ignore the outburst and instead made their final preparations to head on over to the bridge.

It took over ten minutes just to get to the turbolift, but that was mostly due to ship rocking, weapons-fire exchanges, and the general mayhem caused by a ship in a losing battle. By the time Pythra was able to set up the winch to raise himself and the five interns through the gutted turbolift and into the mayhem that was the bridge, Woad counted at least ten times that the _Jackal_ had been hit. _At least the improved Ablative Armor was holding up._

If Woad thought Sickbay was bad, then he considered the bridge to be near hell on Earth. Enlisted crewmen and officers were frantically running all over repairing their stations, direct their departments, or just trying to avoid the exploding consoles that seemed to follow every time the ship was hit with weapons fire.

"Captain," Woad heard a feminine voice shout. He quickly realized it was Commander Possible's. "I managed to get the shields back up, but I don't know how long they'll hold."

"Do what you can Commander," the eerie calm voice of V'Du responded back. _Well it looks like those two have made up. Nice. Well, nothing shoves aside animosity more than a common enemy who is out to enslave your crew._

It appeared that Corporal Pythra was mystified as well. She leaned over to Woad. "Why hasn't the Captain arrested her?"

"Arrest?" Woad asked Pythra while she continued to work the winch and lift the doctors into the room.

"Before you woke up, apparently V'Du marched out of Sickbay with the intent to arrest the Commander for putting us into this situation in the first place."

Woad looked at the two officers, who despite minor pointed looks at each other, seemed to be working fairly well together. "I guess circumstances have changed his perspective and priorities."

Another explosion rang out. "I still don't know why they were trying to disable the shields in the first place. Their weapons are still passing straight through us," the SEFWAR Officer exasperated. _They don't know that we've been boarded._ He looked over to Communications and noticed that Lieutenant Jenkins was desperately trying to repair her station. _Oh, that's why._

"Perhaps we should divert shield power to the weapons and structural integrity," Captain V'Du suggested. "The ablative armor can't really take much more of this."

"No!" Woad found his voice crying out, calling attention to his presence for the first time. "We just ran into five Orions who tried to abduct us. If we divert shield power, they could beam over more boarders, or worse, beam us directly out of here."

"Commander Woad, did you say Orions?" V'Du's voice rang out, loudly but calmly. "They are supposed to be extinct."

Woad turned to his Captain who looked a little worse for wear, but still alive and kicking. "That's affirmative sir." He then swallowed his pride and turned over to Corporal Pythra who joined at Woad's side after lifting the three medical doctors into the chaotic room. "If it wasn't for the timely intervention of this marine," he drawled, feeling bile build up in his throat, "the entire Sickbay may be Orion prisoners."

After receiving an affirmative nod from the corporal, V'Du then turned to his SEFWAR Officer. "Right then, keep the shields up, we don't want to lose any valuable crew members." She responded with her own nod. V'Du then turned back to Woad's direction.

"Commander, I see you are injured," he pointed out, making a mundane observation as if the ship was not falling apart around him. "Shouldn't you be in Sickbay?"

 _I could ask you the same thing, you hypocritical snake,_ the commander thought, but realizing that it wasn't the most tactful thing to say to his Vulcan superior officer, shoved the thought aside with the rest of his vulgarity.

"I felt that my services would be better suited at my station rather than Sickbay, sir." Woad then turned to his tail of interns who - even including T'Pel, the austere Vulcan looking barely older than 15 - were cowering away from the explosions happening all around them. "But just to be safe, I brought some doctors who can not only keep an eye on me, but also assist the corpsman in treating any injures that have occurred on the bridge."

V'Du, as expected, gave him a nod. "Then man your station, Commander, and show me what you are capable of in a live-fire exercise." Woad could definitely hear the "...or else" attached to the end.

"Sir," was his expected reply before he ran over and relieved the poor looking lieutenant who was just about ready to pass out from fear and exhaustion. After turning the poor lad over to his shadow Dr. Read, he looked over what was left of his console and quickly realized the futility of their situation.

The _Jackal_ , for all intensive purposes, was in bad shape. Their Warp Core, although still active, was incapable of making any jump to warp. Impulse engines were offline. Shields were a stone's throw away from failing again, and the ablative armor was holding on at a poor man's 15%. He looked and saw his precious phaser bank emitters were almost completely out of power, and only one torpedo tube was still online.

He then looked at tactical and felt a great deal of pride swell within him. Despite being hit hard and fast, the _Jackal Wolfpack_ had given back thrice-fold. It appeared that two Orion interceptors were completely disabled, while two others were badly damaged. He thanked his lucky stars that the _Gray Wolf_ and _Coyote_ were assigned to them. Commanders Hernandez and Martinez were keeping the remaining pirates occupied and drawing their fire away from the _Jackal_.

The ship rocked again as a stray energy pulse from the remaining combat capable interceptor hit the _Jackal's_ shield generator. Woad noticed that while the shield emitter strength remained the same, the armor integrity around the point of impact was weakened. What the hell?

"Possible!" Woad shouted, "why aren't my shields working?"

"Unknown!" she shouted back as more feedback explosions raced through the room, knocking more crewman down and giving the interns some true field experience. "I've tried everything, cycling shield frequencies, diverting power from the engines, even reversing the polarities, but nothing's working."

Another blast hit the _Jackal_ , thankfully though in the hangar bay, one of the most heavily fortified areas of the ship. "From what I can tell, they're using some sort of Phased Polaron Energy Beam instead of the standard Orion Disruptor."

"Dammit!" Woad swore. He then adjusted his remaining weapons in a defensive posture. With thrusters down, there was no way to maneuver the ship into attack position. All he could hope for is for the _Jackal_ to hold out long enough for the _Gray Wolf_ and _Coyote_ to drive away the Orion interceptors and their fancy weapons away.

Woad then noticed that, despite heavily damaging the _Jackal_ , the remaining interceptors were still keeping their distance, preferring to engage the lighter escort destroyers. That gave him an idea.

He activated his COMM to the Armory. He was answered by one of the gunner's mate. "Gulk, hold your fire on the remaining weapons, let's let them think they declawed us and move closer for a better shot. Then we hit their Warp Core with everything we got."

After getting the verbal thumbs up from his boys down in the Armory, he turned over to Commander Possible and Captain V'Du. "Captain, I think we can get one good hit out of this feint, after that though we're pretty much going be a sitting duck. The phasers are nearly spent and the remaining torpedo tube is almost fresh out of ammunition. This will be our last shot before going silent."

V'Du nodded, processing the information in that Vulcan mind of his, He then turned towards his XO. "Can you personally guide those torpedoes into the Warp Cores of the three ships?"

Woad was glad the Commander actually took the time to think about that. This would be no simple boast. This could be the difference between life or enslavement. His world then brightened at the nod she returned to the Captain. "Affirmative sir." She then turned towards her own station. "Just get them close enough and concentrate your fire on their shields and I can punch through."

Woad then observed as Possible began computing the calculations and algorithms necessary to penetrate the Interceptors shields yet only detonate when they made contact with the hull. She also went through another set of encryption algorithms to prevent the torpedoes from becoming "highjacked" by the opposing forces own SEFWAR Officer - or whatever equivalent the Orions possessed.

It seemed the Orions took the bait. The lack of return fire gave the interceptors the stones necessary to move in closer for another pot shot at the _Jackal's_ shields. Miraculously, despite a current lack of communications with their escorts, the _Gray Wolf_ and _Coyote_ guessed the plan correctly and concentrated their pulse phasor fire directly on the surrounding area of the interceptors' Warp Cores.

Woad considered their help greatly appreciated. As the interceptors made their strafing run across the port side of the _Jackal_ , Woad quickly powered up his phasers and got off three perfect barrages across their shields. He made his opening. "Now Commander!" he shouted.

Woad then heard the ship shudder as three photonic torpedoes were ejected from their remaining launcher. On screen, he saw each torpedo immediately initiate their first cycle detonation, shrouding themselves in antimatter, which gave off so much radiation and interference that - in addition to giving the torpedoes a star-bright glow - made "highjacking" extremely difficult unless the opposing transceiver was powerful enough.

For two of the interceptors, Commander Possible's algorithms worked perfectly. The antimatter shroud was able to penetrate the already weakened shield surrounding the Warp Core. The warheads embedded themselves straight into the hull of the ships, and five nanoseconds later, the primary detonations of the warheads were enough to breach their targets' Warp Cores. Secondary explosions cascaded throughout the ships, until the stress became too much, and the structural integrity grids failed, and the ships were surrounded in balls of flames and debris.

Woad thought it a shame that the third ship didn't share a similar fate.

In the final seconds of the warhead making contact, it immediately veered off course straight into the vastness and harmless expanse of space. Woad was pissed, but he noticed that Possible was more shocked than angry. "They highjacked my torpedo. No one has ever managed to break my encryptions before. Who the hell's on that ship?"

Woad felt for her, but he had his own problems to deal with. As the lucky interceptor made an about-face towards the _Jackal_ , Woad turned back towards his hull display and cursed. "Dammit! That last pass knocked out our shields again. Plus," he added morosely, "we exhausted both our phaser energy and torpedo supply."

"Get those shields back up! Immediately." V'Du shouted, somehow believing that his added voice would make the process move faster.

It didn't.

"I'm detected a huge energy buildup in the approaching interceptor..." Commander Possible started, before the ship made yet another pass off the port side of the now floating hunk of metal in space.

V'Du immediately lifted himself out of his chair. "Check all decks for transporter signatures. I want to know exactly who was beamed off."

"Sir!" the voice of Lieutenant Jenkins ringed out. "I've got Communications back online. We can talk to the rest of the ship and our escorts."

"Contact the _Coyote_ and _Gray Wolf_ and relay orders to pursue and disable the interceptor before it can escape." Woad noticed that Jenkins was way ahead of him, already sending the appropriate signals to their escorts.

"Captain, the interceptor's warming up her engines," Commander Possible called out, "they're about to jump to Warp!"

"Lieutenant?" V'Du called out in his steely calm voice.

"Sir, the escorts report having their own engine problems, they can't maneuver into position."

"Its too late," Woad whispered. On the cracked and damaged screen of the _Jackal_ , the bridge hopelessly watched as the lone interceptor began to distort as a warp bubble formed around the ship, propelling it to faster-than-light travel.

"They're gone." The silence has never been so deafening.

The deadness of silence and mourning seemed to last for an eon, not even Woad's returning headache could break the spell. In the end though, it was the Captain who broke the silence. "Give me a ship wide report. I want to know who was taken."

Woad sat helplessly and uselessly as he watched Lieutenant Jenkins go through the motions. When her voice broke, Woad felt the hurt and loss in her voice. "Sir, we are currently missing fifty crewman and officers, forty of them women." Woad cringed at addendum.

He hated himself for asking this, but it had to be done. "Any superior officers or department heads?"

He observed Jenkins move through the list, highlighting the appropriate information. When she was finished, her voice felt hollow. "Dr. Xanne, Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Tara Strong, Second-in-Command of the SEFWAR Department, and..." her face cringed as she gazed at the final name, almost as if not believing the possibility.

"Monique?" Woad whispered gently.

"...And Major Stoppable, 101st Division, Starfleet Marine Corps."

 _A/N:_

 _Well, there's the conclusion to ACT II. The first scene of ACT III will be coming soon. I told you that the second Act will seem like everything is going completely wrong, but don't worry. ACT III will start to put things back together._

 _I actually debated on "killing" V'Du off the story, but figured the path of redemption to be a better route. Especially with the way his command has started off. Besides, in all the Kim Possible episodes, despite the two hating each other, they always seem to make a good team, even better than Kim and Ron sometimes._

 _Please leave a review on what you liked, hate, or wished to see more of. I might just indulge you._

 _Stay tuned,_

 _KPRS Splicer_


	8. ACT III Part I

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's break. Unfortunately, vacations don't last forever. So, to help with the transition back to work or school, enjoy this first scene of Act III._

 ** _NOTE_** _: Please be sure to read the bottom A/N as this Act may start to become confusing or disorientating as I slowly start to fuse the two universes together._

 _ **NOTE:** This chapter has some minor adult swearing. If I need to raise the Rating, please let me know._

 _Thanks again for the kind reviews and opinions. They really make this enjoyable for me. A major shout out to Uberscribbler for reminding me that breaks and vacations don't apply to writing and storytelling._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Rufus 3000 reappear as a minor character and the Federation would have more political intrigue._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT III– PART I_**

V'Lor found the admiral's pacing distracting.

It was one of those human – or Andorian – traits that never made much sense to him. For a major in Starfleet Intelligence who had long served with distinction and grace, he could never understand the benefits of the act. It used up energy which could be devoted to thought. It wore down the carpets which would need to be replaced. And it drove him up a wall – if V'Lor ever allowed himself to succumb to that desire.

Instead, Major V'Lor preferred a good book. Books required an intellect to comprehend the primary message it conveys – as well as the more subtle messages the author attempts to sneak in. V'Lor always found reading a challenging act. While he found the plots and characters fascinating, he was always more interested in the messages and themes of the authors; because after all, a good spymaster must be able to decode the hidden message.

And it didn't even wear out the carpet.

So while his commanding officer paced around expending and wasting energy in the state room of the Citadel, which orbited New Bajor, V'Lor took the time to indulge in one of his favorite playwrights. He was so wrapped up in the scene that for a second – a microsecond, of course – V'Lor failed to notice that the pacing had ceased, and a huge, imposing Andorian was leaning over his shoulder.

"Must be a damn good book V'Lor?" his voice gruff, but amused at his spymaster's choice.

V'Lor tilted his head thoughtfully and let out a ghost of a smirk. "Shakespeare sir. _Julius Caesar_." V'Lor then thought to test a hypothesis on the illogical pacing. "'Mark Anthony, lend me your ear,' sir?"

Intrigued, his admiral leaned further over to make out the text, "These many, them shall die. Their names are… pricked," he read, then snorted, marching back toward the painting he had found so interesting, showing his back to the major. "My God, V'Lor. You may be well sure that my name is well pricked by those needles at High Command."

 _Hypothesis confirmed, time to expand on the issue_. "Yes sir. An admiral who wins battles," he paused but never taking his eyes of the PADD, "and lives to claim the credit, will never lack for enemies in Sevastopol, sir," he commented, referencing the new, more secure location of Starfleet High Command.

"…And yet…" he baited.

The admiral then spun around gazing at yet another painting in the immaculate stateroom. "And yet they still behave with their usual folly and weakness." The admiral sighs – in a very Andorian way – and finally makes contact with V'Lor, "I have officers deserving commission, notably Ivan Merconivich Filitov, and what am I sent?" he asked rhetorically.

V'Lor let him continue.

"Demoralized crewmen, led by inexperienced recreants, and commanded by dangerous _buffoons_ ," he expunged, with emphasis on the final ledger.

"Captain V'Du of the _Jackal Wolfpack_ ," V'Lor ventured.

"Quite so… quite so," the admiral confirmed. He then brings something to mind that has troubled V'Lor ever since he heard of the Vulcan's posting. "I suspect he's been sent to spy on me."

 _So, the admiral suspects it as well. Interesting._ V'Lor was quite aware of Captain V'Du. Strong ties in Starfleet, family in all the right places, with ego and ambition that would make an Andorian – present company excluded of course – proud. _So why give him a prototype ship and send him to the proverbial dumpster ground of the Federation._

V'Lor was leaning towards political spying. As commander of a prototype ship, V'Du would have to make regular reports to the theatre commander – most likely in person. From there, he could observe and report back the admiral's plans and strategies to his family and the admiral's enemies within the Federation Council and the High Command.

There was a hot debate in the Committee of Interstellar Defense – literally to budget and policy makers of Starfleet High Command – regarding the Orion Resurgence. It hadn't become public knowledge… yet. Because of that, they decided to send a military expedition into the Gamma Quadrant under the command of the Vice Admiral to determine the validity and scope of the threat.

Despite his spotless and exemplary record, many – which included the V'Du family – felt that the Vice-Admiral's humble origins and "soldier's solider attitude" were not the best traits for such a venture. If V'Du got hold of the admiral's preliminary plans and thoughts, his opponents could could use it to spell the end of his military career. It was V'Lor's job to make sure that didn't happen.

And from that, he got an idea.

"So why not send something back that would spoil their _Lordships'_ supper?" V'Lor knew he was reading far too many Terran books if he was using their ancient vernacular.

The admiral raised one of his white eyebrows in interest. V'Lor was almost proud of him. "Such as what, V'Lor?"

"A victory, sir," the Vulcan explained simply. He then rose up and moved towards the admiral, his small frame being blocked from view by the imposing admiral. " _Small_ , but solid," added, attempting to convey his meaning.

"Small, but solid, eh?" the admiral contemplated. "The Orion processing facility on Omicron."

"Very astute sir. Something like that."

The Andorian contemplated it further. "I could spare the _Jackal Wolfpack_ , but Captain V'Du isn't up to it."

V'Lor figured as much, which was why he immediately had the name ready. "No, but Kimbrelika Possible is."

"Kimbrelika Possible?" the admiral mused, remembering back to those simple days when he was a simple Captain of a simple survey vessel with a spunky and loveable Science Officer. _How times have changed,_ was written all over his face. "Let Possible do all the dirty work, and V'Du and that enormous ego of his gain all the glory." He paused, letting a feral gleam in eye glow. "And if all does not go well…"

V'Lor finished with his own serious expression, "V'Du will have to keep quiet about it, and you'll have him in your power."

"And if things go really badly…" The admiral added, already liking this train of thought.

V'Lor did as well. "We may lose a gallant officer."

Just to be safe though, the admiral jerked his head quickly to the major. "Not Kimbrelika."

V'Lor shook in head in denial. "No. No sir, not all."

Vice-Admiral They'lik Barkin, Commander-in-Chief Gamma Quadrant Theatre and Major V'Lor, attaché to the admiral's staff both looked at each other in silent agreement. "V'Du," was the agreed reply.

Their planning was interrupted by a call to admiral's desk. He marched over to the speaker and answered. "Yes lieutenant?"

"Sir, the _Jackal_ and her escorts are requesting permission to enter the system as well as priority docking for emergency repairs."

Both of Barkin's eyebrows went up at that claim. "Emergency repairs?" he asked.

"Yes sir, apparently the _Wolfpack_ encountered some hostile forces on route to New Bajor and need to dock before the ship completely falls apart."

Barkin made eye contact with his Spymaster. The message was as clear as day. _Find out what happened, immediately_. V'Lor nodded and made to gather his PADD and other devices he brought with him, while Barkin turned back to the intercom. "Permission granted, send orders to clear out the outer docking ring of the Citadel and put emergency response units on general alert."

"Yes admiral," the intercom clicked out.

Barkin then turned back to his companion just as the klaxons began ringing. "It looks like the mission has to be postponed. I want to know exactly what happened to the _Jackal_. That ship was supposed to be under cloak the entire way, so unless the Orions have somehow managed to discover cloaking fields, someone screwed up. Find out who. I don't care how, just get it done!"

"I understand sir." V'Lor responded back, his own temper threatening to break through his sound logical barriers. He was also considering incompetence, and he had a strong idea of who it was. _This fool is making all of us Vulcans look bad._ He caught himself before it got any worse. _I must mediate after all this is over._

After he returned to his quarters to drop off his novel and pick up his interrogation supplies, he rushed out towards the outer rings of the Citadel. En route, he passed numerous firemen and other emergency responders as they rushed over to the same area, obviously with different intentions.

When V'Lor approached the assigned docking bay, he realized why. The _Jackal_ appeared to be ripped to shreds. Its once sleek and pristine hull was scarred by phased-polaron fire and resulting internal explosions. From the observation deck above the docking clamps, V'Lor noticed large polaron burns covering and obstructing the rails of the phaser banks. When he turned his eyes towards the control tower exclave that connected the two catamaran wings together, all he saw was scorched metal and destruction, nothing to suggest that it once housed most of the _Jackal's_ torpedo tubes.

In short, V'Lor was amazed at the fact that despite all the damaged the _Jackal_ sustained, it was still holding on. It was somehow being held together by duck tape and sheer will, still ready to absorb punishment and dish it out thrice-fold.

This revelation made V'Lor's blood broil again. _A ship this proud, this tough, this majestic should not have been placed under command of an imbecile like V'Du._ In his own Vulcan way, V'Lor loved the Federation, he loved Starfleet, and he loved the ships that carried her will. It was why he became a fleet intelligence officer. He would do anything to make sure the proud symbols of the most powerful fleet in the Alpha Quadrant started every battle with a decisive advantage.

 _Its as Sun Tzu said,_ he thought referring back to another Terran intellect, _'Victorious warriors win first and then go to war…' Ships like the_ Jackal _deserve a captain who can lead it to success before the battle had even started, and I'm going to give it one._

 _Once the current one is removed of course,_ he added malevolently.

By the time he finished his musings, the _Jackal_ had completed its docking maneuvers, and almost immediately after the airlocks were open, V'Lor could smell the death and destruction within the ship. The smells overwhelmed the intelligence officer. He gripped the railing to steady his nausea as the putrid stench of burning flesh assaulted his sensitive nose.

 _I should've brought my nasal inhibitor,_ he thought morosely, forcing his body to set aside the nausea and disorientation. Once he was certain that he could take two steps without throwing up, he gathered himself and his PADD and marched in behind the Emergency Service personnel.

He had a mission to accomplish.

Already, the repairmen were hard at working, cornering off areas that had become too dangerous to navigate through. He saw Citadel engineers deep in discussion with whatever engineers aboard the _Jackal_ were left. He skirted around them, deciding that later would be preferable to ask questions. Engineers make the worse conversationalists when they have something more important at hand.

Instead he made his way towards the bridge. By now, he imagined that the bridge crew and officers would be slowly relaxing and letting down their guard and stress, knowing that they weren't completely alone in a hostile region of space. He pitied them. For them, their work was just beginning.

On his way there, he passed by Sickbay, and something beyond the glass doors caught his eye and stroked his curiosity. Deciding that the bridge crew could wait, he marched into Sickbay and that's when it became clear to him.

There were no Starfleet Medical Officers present.

Instead, all V'Lor could see were the galaxy-gray cameos of the Stellar Marine Corpsmen working round the clock attending to their patients and charges. Out of all the gray uniforms and injured patients, there were only three individuals wearing the Medical blue; however, the charcoal gray uniforms with only one showing two chevrons meant that they were just one second-year resident and two interns, whom obviously had no experience in leading a turbulent sickbay.

"Despite lacking in deeper and more complex skills of the medical trade, these…" he paused in his recordings attempting to locate the correct word, "…field medics are displaying aptitude knowledge in diagnostic medicine and invasive surgery. Fascinating," he concluded.

"If you think this is _fascinating,_ you should check out engineering." A tired, but strong female voice rang out from behind him, and he turned to meet the origin. "Our boys had to go through a crash course in Warp Field Mechanics to help assist the depleted engineering department. I don't envy that job," she concluded, before rushing back and joining her charge into what was left of Post-Op.

V'Lor blinked a few times, not quite sure on what just happened. _Did that marine just engage me in conversation and move off without any form of dismissal or salute?_ It wasn't arrogance or ego that prompted the thought, but genetic programming. _A marine shall not speak unless spoken to and shall keep conversation as minimal as possible._ That was their creed. It's what got the Augmentation Bill approved through the Council and onto the President's desk.

Yet, here was a corpsman who just blatantly threw that cornerstone out the window, and from further impressions from the rest of the corpsmen, she wasn't the only one. All around V'Lor, marines were engaging their fellow crewmen in conversations, providing words of encouragement about their condition, offering their condolences to those whose injuries were either too severe or jeopardized future service within Starfleet.

 _These Augments were acting like normal, functioning individuals._ _What in the name of Surak is going on?_

Still recovering from the shock at the marines' behavior, Major V'Lor moved around trying to locate the marine who spoke out at him. He found her with her hands buried in a different crewman's open stomach attempting stop the bleeding while keeping his intestines from spilling out. If V'Lor had any previous control over his nausea, he lost it immediately when the fresh blood and bowel assaulted his sinuses again. His head started spinning and he was quickly losing his balance.

The corpsman didn't make things any easier. Mistaking V'Lor for a medical assistant, she blindly reached for his hand while issuing orders at the same time. "Okay, I sealed the lacerated artery and repaired the damaged bowel from the explosion. Hold the stomach and bowels in place, while I ready the dermal regenerator. Should only take a few seconds."

Her iron grip far exceeded his own strength, and the second V'Lor's hands touched the exposed small intestines, he was assaulted by powerful emotions radiating from the injured crewman that completely ripped through his established mental shields. His nausea from before was swept away by something else. Something new. And disturbing.

Agony. Despair. Pain. Regret.

Out of all the myriad of emotions assaulting his psyche, the most dominant one was the regret. Regret that he failed in his duty. Regret that he'd never explore another star system. Regret that he failed to tell Crewman Galloway he had feelings for her.

 _So many emotions, so much pain, so much suffering. It's distracting. It's grating. It's horrible. It's… over?_ V'Lor was so wrapped up in the vicious emotional attack that he didn't even register the corpsman gently removing his hand and resting him down on a nearby observational chair.

V'Lor's breathing was labored, his skin was wet with sweat, and his mind was overwhelmed and disorganized from the emotional assault. He tried to control his breathing, tried to re-discipline his mind. _Structure, Logic, function, control. A structure cannot stand without a foundation. Logic is the foundation of function._ V'Lor slowly began to gain control of his breathing, and he also felt the chaos within his mind began to settle. _Function is the essence of control. I am in control. I am in control._

Slowly, but surely, V'Lor managed to establish a tentative control over his mind. It was nowhere near as strong as he liked. _That would require hours of meditation, but for now, it will suffice._ After taking a few more breaths, V'Lor opened his eyes and gazed directly into stormy gray eyes that showed nothing but concern and worry over his state of mind.

"Major, can you hear me. Are you alright?" The eyes asked.

"Yes," he croaked back, "I am functional." V'Lor turned his eyes back to the patient filled with so much despair and suffering and noticed his abdomen was sealed and medications were rushing through him. _He was going to be okay._ The gray eyes followed his own towards the bed.

They turned back to him, and V'Lor found himself staring into them again, seeking comfort and control through them. _No! A Vulcan draws strength and control from within._ "He's going to be fine. A little banged up, and out of service for a week or two, but nothing permanent.

The gray eyes then became filled with gratitude and guilt, an odd combination. "I want to thank you, as well as apologize to you."

V'Lor caught himself wishing the guilt in her eyes would disappear. _Eyes like those shouldn't be tainted by such a terrible emotion._ He shut down the thought within his mind, repeating the cornerstone of Vulcan philosophy. _Logic is the essence of control._

"Major, without your help, I don't know what could've happened to my patient. He had already lost a lot of blood, and any more delays would have caused an infection. You most likely saved his life." V'Lor felt an emotion trying to sneak past his defenses. He tried to force it down, but it was persistent. Though he managed to regain control, he realized it was gratitude and pride _. I must meditate as soon as possible._

The gray eyes he was gazing into were then filled with even more guilt, something which annoyingly tugged somewhere within him. "I also wish to convey my most sincere apologizes for putting you through such a rigorous experience. I am aware of Vulcan touch telepathy, and I know that by the state in which you were in, you were completely overwhelmed by the emotions of my patient."

V'Lor was surprised at this revelation. Vulcan telepathy was a closely guarded secret. To have knowledge of this either required the highest of clearance within the military or the trust and respect of a Vulcan colleague, and those were extremely difficult to locate. He would've questioned the corpsman on where she acquired such information, but all he could do was focus on those gray eyes, as they continue to radiate guilt and regret.

Finally, V'Lor couldn't take it anymore and made to speak.

"No apology is necessary where no insult was intended," he repeated the Vulcan creed back. "You were unaware of my identity at the time, and you were concerned for your patient. Any thought or action that promotes the sanctity of life is always looked upon favorably on Vulcan."

As the corpsman began assimilating his words, V'Lor saw that her eyes were filling with relief at the pardon. He released a breath that he was unaware of holding, and further chastised himself _. I must finish my evaluation and retreat for meditation. I am hardly functioning._

Leaning on a bastion of control that he had been slowly developing since the unintentional attack, he broke eye contact with the corpsman, rose to feet and gathered his PADD before him. Realizing that the tender moment between man and women was over and forgotten, she also rose up and presented herself to attention.

"Corporal Pythra, Alpha Squad Corpsman, Delta Company, 101st Regiment, Starfleet Stellar Marine Corps sir," she presented herself before him, though thankfully for his head, in a normal voice instead of the legendary marine voice.

V'Lor gave her a nod in return. "At ease, Corporal. There is no need for you stand on ceremony in a situation like this." He saw her frown at the dismissal of formalities, almost as if reluctant to break tradition around a Vulcan. Seeing as how she and her comrades were _still_ breaking every known Marine tradition – right in front of him no doubt – he found her confusion and discomfort curious.

It took him some strength to force it down. He was here a reason, not to sate his own curiosity.

"Corporal," he began, activating his recording unit, "please explain to me why all the corpsmen within Major Stoppable's Company are currently engrossed in Starfleet Medical task work."

"Sir. During the attack on the _Jackal_ , our entire Medical Team and the patients within the area at the time were suddenly transported off the ship by a pirate vessel," she replied in a stiff monotone, though, due to his weakened emotional shields, V'Lor could pick up trace amounts of budding fury radiating off her body as well as a pang of loss.

V'Lor's eyebrow rose at that piece of information. "Why weren't the shields active at the time; furthermore, why was the ship decloaked to begin with? This ship was under strict orders to maintain subspace silence and telemetry blackout until arrival at New Bajor."

"You have to ask the bridge staff about that sir," she shrugged, a habit often found in humans, but never an augment. _How strange_. "I can only tell you that I was helping Dr. Xanne in surgery when the ship started to shake and enemy borders started appearing."

V'Lor felt a pang of worry hit his gut, despite his best effort. "Did you recognize them?" he asked tentatively.

It came from nowhere, V'Lor thought. At such a simple question, Pythra seemed to snap. All the rage and anger that was simmering beneath the calm marine exterior burst from within at the mention of the pirates.

"Yes sir. They were Orions. Fucking Orions, sir!" she spat out with such venom and ire that V'Lor took a few steps back. She didn't relent however, "it's bad enough that _fucking_ V'Du ran this ship into the ground due to his own arrogance, but _nooo_ , it didn't stop there."

V'Lor looked into her eyes again and almost didn't recognize them. Unlike the other myriad of emotions he saw in them, this one was primal, animal-like, and dangerous. _So this is the beast behind the Augmentation Reprogramming. Very dangerous and somewhat familiar._

Pythra continued on her rant as if the Major wasn't present. "No! It didn't stop there. Because of his incredible stupidity, the _Jackal_ becomes crippled, half the crew is either killed or injured while the other half has to fight off a goddam armada of Orion Interceptors. Did I miss anything?!" she shouted, ready to snap anyone's neck should they either approach or contradict what was said.

"Don't forget the Major and the docs, corporal," a deep voice reported back. V'Lor felt a shiver run down his back at the coldness of the voice. It was also standing right behind him. When he slowly turned around, he found himself standing before one of the largest and bulkiest man he'd ever seen.

The beast's low barritone voice filled the sickbay as everyone – corpsmen and patients – turned to listen. "Because of the actions of our esteemed Captain, we lost a lot of men. We lost our brothers, our sisters, our comrades-in-arms." V'Lor saw each of them nodding in solemnity and anger. "But most importantly, we lost our sword and shield. Major Stoppable was one of us. A marine – proud to do service for his nation – for the Federation. He was a man who would gladly give his life to protect it and all those who share and seek protection under its generous wings."

V'Lor felt the blood drain from his face at that revelation. He was unaware that Major Stoppable was injured, let alone kidnapped. He couldn't even imagine what the Federation Council would say regarding that piece of information.

V'Lor was brought out his musings once again by the massive marine, who was now focusing on all those in the room, patients included. "And Dr. Xanne was one of the greatest medical minds in the entire Alpha Quadrant. For the short time that we knew her, she was like a mother to us all. She cared for us, patched us up, offered advice, and chided us when we became reckless, but above all, she respected what we once were. She understood what we are now. And she believed in what we can become."

V'Lor then stood amazed as the brute turned his scarred and worn face towards the simmering corporal and glared her down. "And they both would be _sorely_ disappointed in seeing their friends and comrades-in- arms lose themselves in their grief and anger at their loss."

It apparently worked. V'Lor was captivated as the augmented rage of the corporal was vanquished by the brute's words and implications. As the fire dimmed within her, all that remained was stalwart determination brimming with unsatisfied retribution. V'Lor knew the anger was still there, but he knew then and there that Pythra could control it and focus it on the Orions. _And maybe Captain V'Du,_ he mused.

When he was satisfied with his subordinate, the big man continued on, unaware that he had a large crowd gathering before him. Out of the corner of his eye, V'Lor witnessed a crew-member activate a ship wide speaker and direct it to Sickbay. "No, instead they would want us to continue on our mission to serve and defend the Federation. To protect those who can't protect themselves. To seek out new allies and oppressed states. To _stalwartly_ and _proudly_ go where no soldier has gone before!"

Cheers and war-cries rang out in Sickbay and throughout the ship, though V'Lor was unaware of the last part. In recanting the Federation Creed to his comrades, he was building upon the excitement and faith that was nearly lost after the _Jackal_ was attacked.

V'Lor saw it. When he first came aboard, all the crew members that he witnessed and observed were in a depressed and defeated state. They endured a beating unimaginable and suffered horrendous losses. They could no more defend themselves than they could defend others.

But listening to the deep and enticing charisma of the gunnery sergeant as he reminded these weathered soldiers what they were fighting for and to honor those who were lost, that same focused determination that he saw on the corporal's face began to appear on the rest of them. V'Lor suppressed a worried glance. _The beast had them._

"Now, I know exactly what both of our gallant officers would say concerning their position." He looked around the room making sure he had their attention. It was unnecessary."They would say to continue on without them. To fight the good fight and never stop until all have embraced the love and protection of the Federation."

"V'Du would say that as well _," though for different reasons entirely_ , which was silently heard by everyone, V'Lor included.

"I say otherwise!" he bellowed with righteous authority. "I say we fight back! I say we rescue our courageous comrades and all those they shelter! I say we show these Orion savages what happens we you mess with Starfleet High Command!"

Men and women again cheered at the declaration with cries for Starfleet and the Federation and insults towards the pirates they despised. V'Lor had never felt so much retribution and rage in such abundance. He had to further strengthen his mental barriers to avoid being swept away in the brute's speech like the rest of the ship.

These men and women were mad. Their pride was stung. Their honor was tarnished. And they wanted revenge and absolution. And if V'Lor didn't convince Vice Admiral Barkin to let them rescue and avenge their comrades, then he was guaranteeing mutiny of at least three ships.

 _Worse yet_ , V'Lor realized, _if the Regency of Trillius Prime became aware that the heir of the Shimaru Dynasty – better known as the Lost Monarch of Trill – was captured or killed on their watch, it could cause an interstellar incident within the organization. They may even leave the Federation in outrage._

As V'Lor soaked in that last tidbit of information, he gazed around the cheering and saw someone he didn't expect. Leaning against the wall, with a grim determination on her face, red dishelveled hair filled with grease, smoke, and dried blood and green eyes filled with the same flame of vengeance, was Commander Kimbrelika Possible.

He knew her since the academy. In fact, he was probably her only true friend. At least the Vulcan equivalent of friend. _After all, friendship requires an emotional attachment, and to admit to friends would be to admit to emotion._

Still, despite the paradox of thought, he still saw her as more than a trusted colleague. Even after they graduated, they still corresponded with each, detailing their accomplishments to each other, sharing in the latest news of galaxy. He saw the potential in her long before the Vice-Admiral, and he was… satisfied… with her reassignment from Command to SEFWAR. She was analyst and strategist, like him, always preferring to work behind the scenes to extract victory for the Federation.

But looking at her right now, he saw none of that typical reserve. From his view, Possible appeared ready to grab a phase rifle and be the first into the breach against the Orions to rescue her crew. When he had her assigned to the _Jackal_ , a charging Kim Possible running head long into danger and damning the consequences was not what he envisioned.

And if _she_ could be persuaded and inspired by the brute's speech, who's to say the _entire_ fleet wouldn't? Who's to say that this incident won't spark a _war_ between the Federation and the Resurgent Orion Syndicate.

 _No_ , V'Lor understood, _we aren't ready for war yet. We don't know enough. We don't know how much the Syndicate encompasses. We don't know their numbers. And we don't know the identity of the mysterious benefactor who supplied them with the advanced Polaron Beams, not to mention the additional wealth required to rearm their entire fleet._

But again, looking at the Commander's expression and seeing the men and women of the _Jackal_ – and unfortunately, the Citadel of New Bajor – cheering and shouting, he knew that rational and logical explanations would not be sufficient. The men and women of Starfleet demanded blood, and they were going to get it, one way or another.

Add Stoppable and the Shimaru Symbiot to the list…

 _No._ V'Lor knew what he had to do. And he knew the Admiral was _not_ going to like it.

 ** _A/N:_**

 _So this kicks off ACT III. Wooo! Keep in mind that this Act will be less action and more dialogue and political intrigue. That doesn't mean that there won't be a little action. Come on, I'm mean, but I'm not cruel. It will also be a bit longer as I have to explain all the discrepancies and twists of both the merged Star Trek and KP Universe._

 _With that thought in mind, I strongly – and I cannot repeat this enough – encourage you to either review or PM if I am not clear with my Lore modifications and tie-ins. When we jump into the pure action of Act 4, all the background and history should be covered enough so that you have a comfortable understanding of this AU. If it's not clear for you, then it may not be clear for someone else. SO TELL ME! I'll modify the chapters to clear up the murkiness, send you links to Star Trek databases for the lore and information I'm pulling, or I'll just outright tell you what happened. This story is for you, and you deserve to understand what's being written._

 _Rant aside, I hope you are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it. Stay tuned._

 _Oh, and if it wasn't obvious, I've decided against V'Du achieving redemption, sorry for the false announcement._

 _KPRS Splicer signing off._


	9. ACT III Part II

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Here is the second scene in Act III. It's a long one, so you might want to read it twice, as a lot of information will be covered. Again, review if you have questions. That's what it's there for._

 ** _CAUTION!_** _Some of the history of Bajor is extremely dark and disturbingly familiar with the WWII Holocaust. I'm not making this up, this actually happened in the Trek Universe. So, if that is a sensitive subject for some of you, you might want to stop reading._

 _Also, since we're dealing with Barkin, the guy who yells a lot, here is your language warning._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Barkin yell a lot more and the Federation would have an actual Intelligence Office._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT III– PART II_**

Vice Admiral They'lik Barkin was waiting. He hated waiting.

Waiting meant the mind went unoccupied, unsupervised. It allowed the mind to bask in thought, memories, and old actions. For those who have – as the Terrans say – seen the elephant, retracing old decisions and past memories was a very dangerous and unhealthy pastime. Barkin himself had seen too much and wanted to forget it ever existed.

Unfortunately, the posting, the paintings, even the goddamn furniture was leading his idle mind to debilitating memories.

In particular was his immaculate statesmen desk, the woodwork courtesy of the fine and amicable people of New Bajor. It was mahogany – or at least the planet's version of mahogany – crafted and fitted to accommodate his large bulk. The engravings and carvings that he found alongside the walls and legs of the desk did much to reveal the long developed artistic abilities of the Bajorans. _Hell,_ Barkin curiously thought, _if this is what the Bajorans are capable of now, imagine what they could've created without fifty years of Cardassian Occupation._

It was a sobering thought, one that would forever stick with the Vice Admiral. It was also the primary reason he was sent here in the first place, though if he had his way, he would just quit and move to Bajor to help rebuild the once proud system.

The Liberation of Bajor was a long and bloody process, mostly for the Bajorans. Officially, the Federation Invasion and subsequent liberation of the planet lasted five months, but for Barkin, his 7th Fleet, and a planet full of partisans, the damn war lasted almost two years.

When Barkin was finally able to rout and destroy the Cardassian Blockade and occupy Terok Nor – now renamed Deep Space Nine – the Vice Admiral was appalled at the conditions of the Bajoran refinery workers aboard the station. They were malnourished, filthy, and beaten. The fathers and husbands were shriveled, many of them missing limbs due to the dangerous and unlivable working conditions. The women were no better, seen as equally inferior as their male counterparts.

But the children…

Even just thinking about it two years later made the Andorian's ice blood boil. He could still see their emaciated bodies lying dead all over the Promenade, so many dying that the Cardassian overseers didn't even bother cremating the remains. They figured that the decaying carcasses could generate even more diseases to kill their workers even faster.

While he lost sleep over all those bodies, he didn't lose a single wink over what he did next. The men and women of the 101st Regiment of the Starfleet Stellar Marine Corps were considered the best soldiers in the entire Alpha Quadrant. They were analytical, tactical, and deadly against any and all enemies.

Five companies of twenty men each stormed the battlements and quickly secured the outer docking rings, followed by the promenade, and finally the operation control room. It was swift, methodical, and efficient.

And non lethal.

So when Barkin marched through the filth of the ore processing facility to a healthy assortment of two-hundred Cardassian prisoners, his orders were immediate and universally accepted.

"Execute them all," was the given order.

A _marine was program and expected to obey, and Major Rondexus Kragen was no different_ , Barkin thought. He remembered the marines of Delta Company – as well as the others – prime their weapons for kill. The click was all the Cardassians needed to know. They threw themselves on the ground, begging for mercy, saying that they were only following orders, that they were forced to do so under penalty of death. _Where have I heard that before?_

None of them accepted death like a man.

Their groveling and debasing fell on deaf ears as far as Barkin was concerned. On board that orbiting hell-hole, his ears and antenna were more in tune with the cries and pleas of the Bajoran ghosts as they cried for mercy and pardon from these sniveling cowards. Those voices still haunted his sleep.

"Fire," and they did. The Cardassians prisoners-of-war were slaughtered by the analytical, tactical, and deadly marines of the 101st. Barkin could've swore he saw some satisfied grins as they fired, knowing that justice was being delivered on behalf of the Ghosts of Terrok Nor.

 _Maybe they heard the voices too_ , Barkin pondered as he downed a glass of Andorian Ale.

With orbital superiority of Bajor, the invasion proceeded smoothly, though the same conditions – if not worse – were encountered planet side. Death squads – who prior to the invasion marched all over Bajor, slaughtering the civilians and seizing every piece of wealth they encountered – were rounded up and shot on sight. Numerous labor camps were uncovered and liberated.

Gallitep was the worst.

 _Somehow_ , Barkin chilled at the thought, _that extermination camp was ten times worse than Terok Nor_. He saw the ledgers. He saw the recordings. _Murder was just the end of the fun for them;_ _first came the humiliation._ _Mothers raped in front of their children, husbands beaten until their wives couldn't recognize them, old people buried alive because they couldn't work anymore._

The remaining Cardassians at the camp who weren't tortured and slaughtered by the partisans as the 101st liberated the camp were rounded up and summarily executed. Barkin took extreme pleasure at shooting Gul Darhe'el himself. _The ghosts of Gallitep were avenged_ , he resolved.

Least to say, the Federation Council was upset and disheartened to learn of the Admiral's abuse of authority and mistreatment of the Cardassian Prisoners-of-War. The V'Du family in particular, was outraged – though they couldn't obviously show it – that the peace treaty they spent months drafting was completely rejected by the Cardassian Union, after they learned that their administrative officers were all executed after capture.

Barkin figured the Cardassians and the V'Du family could go fuck themselves. They weren't there. They didn't see what he saw. It was around that time that he first considered resigning his commission. He didn't think he could handle seeing any more atrocities. He lost enough sleep as it was. _It would certainty have made everything easier in the long run._

The Bajorans felt otherwise.

As the invasion proceeded forward and word of Barkin's justice reached the ears of the oppressed, his name was praised. Overnight, he became the face of the Federation for the Bajoran people. Approval for the Federation and Starfleet shot up into the impossible. _If this was how the Federation defended its citizens and potential one, then sign us up._ Many even believed him to be the next Emissary of the Prophets, even though the wormhole hadn't yet been discovered.

Regardless, the Federation Council was trapped. Their ideals and the rule of law clearly stated that an officer who abuses his power and completely disregard the Interstellar Geneva Conventions, were subject to court martial, dismissal, and imprisonment for ten to thirty years, depending on the severity.

But the Council also wanted Bajor. Even before the wormhole was discovered and annexed under the Bajoran Sphere-of-Influence, the system was a prime piece of military real-estate in respect to the Cardassian Union. Cardassia Prime was just 5.25 light-years away, merely two days at a steady Warp 8.0.

The Council wanted the Bajorans to join and take their rightful seat on the Council, and arresting and imprisoning They'lik Barkin, Hero of Bajor, Savior of the Common Man, would be tantamount to shooting that goal in the foot.

So, instead of arresting Barkin and presenting him to the Cardassian Union as a peace offering to guarantee the signing of the V'Du treaty, and alienating the people they wanted to assimilate, the Council instead gave him a slap on the wrist, regrouped his fleet and gave him theatre command of Starfleet forces as the Cardassian Border Wars escalated.

As expected, the wars continued to reveal other atrocities committed by the Cardassians. Setlik III and Beloti were just a few well known examples of Cardassian brutality. Like before, after witnessing the results of the carnage, he wanted to line the Cardassians up and shoot them, but he managed to restrain himself. The warning was absolutely clear _. Fuck up again, and we'll screw you to the wall._

So he held on to his temper. For the next year, he conducted war in a civilized manner. The 7th Fleet patrolled the stars, and the 101st – in coordination with the 82nd Marine Regiment – performed flawlessly and efficiently.

He took prisoners who just minutes ago were slaughtering Federation colonists suspected of being insurgents. His ships captured vessels that were destroying civilian convoys delivering emergency supplies and food to starving colonies. He occupied Cardassian outposts who rearmed their pirates and butchers that were previously exchanged for kidnapped colonists.

He acted cordially. He commanded like a gentleman. He preserved Federation ideals. And because of his adherence to his standing orders, the resulting treaty between Cardassia and the Federation surrendered dozens of Federation colonies to the "protection" and "guidance" of the Cardassian Union as a new demilitarized zone was established.

What really pissed off Barkin was that the treaty was just a refined drafting and modification of the V'Du original version. The only difference was that Bajor was not returned to the "stewardship" of Cardassia.

And because of all of his actions, Vice Admiral They'lik Barkin, Hero of Bajor, Hero of the Federation, and the Butcher of Cardassia, was thanked, commended, and sent to the opposite side of the galaxy to combat some phantom threat. _A fitting reward_ , Barkin grumbled, taking another swig of the finest Andorian Ale.

Still, he decided to make the best of it. Bajor, now recovered enough to start expanding its wings, requested their savior's assistance in establishing the first colony in the Gamma Quadrant. Still dreaming of the ghosts and hearing their cries for retribution, Barkin easily agreed.

He surveyed numerous systems for what the Bajorans needed until finally discovering a beautiful trinary star system which consisted of seven ecological-varying Minshara class planets. Currently the third planet – what Barkin referred as the hill and forest ecosystem – was colonized, but its city was a testament to Bajoran strength, durability, and cultural prowess.

And Barkin would move "heaven and Earth" to protect this system. The Citadel was a testament to that claim. Built completely out of the star system, this military platform – designed by the Starfleet Engineering Corps and built by the New Bajoran colonists – lit a new and promising chapter in Bajor-Federation relationships.

But now, the Bajoran people were under threat once again, and it was his job as CINC Gamma to protect them from the reach of savages and barbarians. And since his posting was considered Indian Country – another odd Terran phrase – by the Council, he didn't have act as civilized as before.

"If only V'Lor would hurry up, then we can start," Barkin grounded out.

 _Fate must have a sick sense of humor_ , because the moment those words left his lips, his desk buzzer rang, bringing the Andorian out of his past and back to the present.

"Yes," he answered to the lieutenant, who guarded his office from the bureaucracy of Starfleet.

"Major V'Lor and Captain Filitov are here to speak with you, sir," was the reply.

 _Finally_ , he groused to himself. "Send them in," he commanded.

The door hissed and opened, allowing the two Starfleet Officers to march in and present themselves to their commander. Barkin, never one for such propriety between favored colleagues, waved away the etiquette.

He took a moment to take in the two men in his office. _Both were on the path for great things_ , Barkin figured. The Vulcan Major of Intelligence could literally outstrip anyone in strategic thinking, leading their enemies on in overconfidence, only to envelop and encircle them in either a political or militaristic ambush. It was V'Lor who kept the Vice Admiral from being dragged away in chains after Bajor.

And then there was Filitov, his tactical right arm. He was an intimidating man, even for a Terran, but Barkin figured growing up in the Wasteland of Siberia made him an honorary Andorian in terms of strength and endurance. The stocky man could handle himself in a firefight, but like any good officer, he preferred to lead his men from the bridge or the CIC. It allowed him to see the full picture and make decisions based on that information. A policy which made the Assualt on Terok Nor less bloody for the men and _materiale_ involved.

 _Combined_ , Barkin understood, _these two men were unstoppable_. V'Lor would set the chess pieces in place, and Filitov would drive the Ushaan-Tor to inflict the maximum amount of damage. And because of that, Barkin once again cursed those political idiots for meddling in his affairs.

The Vice-Admiral was given the ultimate technological creation of Starfleet since the advent of the _Defiant_. It had the perfect compliment. It had the best engineering crew, the best medical division, his own hand-picked company of Starfleet Marines led by one of the best officers he's ever seen, and XO'd by another rising star.

And instead of giving it the ultimate commander who could turn the _Jackal_ into the _Wolf of the Gamma Quadrant_ , they gave it to this incompetent fucker. The Council considered him more politically reliable – whatever the hell that meant – than a Siberian ex-patriot with non-existent ties to the Soviet Union of old.

"Idiots," he mumbled to himself.

Realizing that he was digressing again into dangerous and unproductive thoughts, he focused himself back to his Chief of Intelligence and Chief of Staff. "Alright, give me the bad news. What the hell happened to my jewel in the crown?"

The moment he asked, he immediately regretted it. He saw V'Lor tense and Filitov frown at the exact same time. _Oh shit_ , he thought.

An hour and a half later full of expletives and the occasional hurling chair, Barkin managed to cool his simmering blood back to its appropriate level. They just finished informing him of the damages to the _Jackal_ and her complement, when the COMM buzzed again.

"Yes," he sighed, wishing V'Du was here so he could hurl _him_ out an airlock.

"Sir, Captain V'Du and Commander Possible are here to present their official report on the _Jackal_."

 _The Ice Queen's laughing at me, that's what she's doing_ , he thought. But he knew he had to listen to whatever dribble came out of the prick's mouth, so he reassembled the PADDs on his desk, leaving V'Lor and Filitov's report to his right, and ordered them in.

Barkin didn't want to give the bastard the respect he warranted, so as the duo marched in and presented themselves, he occupied himself with a blank PADD and stylus. It was a good ten seconds later when Barkin finally turned his head over and acknowledged the good Captain.

"Captain V'Du. Commander Possible," he nodded to both, though the nod towards his former SEFWAR Officer was warmer and friendlier. "I understand you are here to present your after action report regarding the _Jackal_ Incident."

The Captain's voice was thick with righteous authority and contempt for the Andorian. "Of course, _sir_. I would have presented myself earlier of course, but I had to see to my ship, as any _civilized_ officer would, _sir_."

 _You mean you were cowering in the back of your cabin trying to explain how you got your ass whooped by a bunch of pirates_ , he mused. Still though, he accepted the offered PADD from Commander Possible with grace, while V'Du looked on in thinly veiled disgust. _What, don't want to sully your hands in menial labor, V'Du?_

He quickly browsed though the report, and once again felt his blood pressure begin to rise. It was all he could do to prevent himself from strangling the Vulcan. He wanted to wring the bastard, but he decided to take a page out of V'Lor's playbook and real him in.

Gazing through the first section of the report, he then stopped and looked back at the smug and bored Vulcan. "Continue, Captain," he grounded out.

The Vulcan didn't even miss a beat. "Naturally sir, on receiving your orders to make absolute haste to your station, I increased our ship speed to Standard Warp 8.5, an acceptable cruising speed for all _Vulcan_ vessels. I made this decision based on guarantee from my Chief Engineer that the ship could hold this speed, despite the many untested systems of the _Jackal_."

"Unfortunately, it appeared I was correct in assuming that the _Jackal_ was too immature to handle the stress set by _Vulcan_ precedence. As a result, the _Terran_ Warp Core began to overload, and if not for my timely intervention, the entire ship would have cascaded into an overload, killing everyone on board."

Barkin felt the strain on the PADD as his fist tightened, but at the last second, he released it before the damage became noticeable. He also noticed Commander Possible was faring no better, but unlike himself, was doing a much better job of hiding it behind her amazing professionalism. Containing the fury in his voice, he gestured for V'Du to continue, "and then…"

V'Du prattled on in a dismissive voice, "again unfortunately, despite the efforts of my Chief SEFWAR Officer," he gazed momentarily towards his XO, "I was injured and knocked unconscious for the remainder of the incident. _Apparently_ , despite being equipped with a near Vulcan staff, Commander Possible was still unable to prevent the cascade failures from reaching the bridge and killing most of the bridge staff. Thankfully, none of them were Vulcans."

Barkin quickly glanced at V'Lor at that final comment. To his complete shock, he saw abject horror and fury on his usually stoic and enlightened face. If a Vulcan like V'Lor could break through his exemplary mental discipline at this little piece-of-shit's rambling, then how the hell would anybody else react to it.

He turned back to V'Du. "And because of your incapacity, the _Jackal_ , as you put it," referencing back to V'Du's perjury, "'quickly fell to the Orion barbarians?'"

V'Du nodded, as if discussing the weather, "Yes sir. Because I was unavailable to lead the ship out of danger, the task fell upon Commander Possible's shoulders, who unfortunately, did not rise up to the occasion."

Barkin couldn't believe that V'Du had the gall to summarily stamp down the Commander right next to her. He was surprised she was taking it so well. Based on V'Lor's report, his old analytical SEFWAR Officer was about ready to lead a Forlorn Hope against the Orions.

V'Du continued. "When I retrieved consciousness, I immediately realized that the ship was on the verge of collapse, so naturally I assumed command. Despite suffering a few acceptable losses, I managed to fall back in good order and bring the _Jackal_ safely to the New Bajor system."

Barkin blinked at that conclusion. _Acceptable losses? You believe 75% casualties is acceptable? Why? Because so few were Vulcan?_

V'Du didn't give Barkin a chance to recover. "Naturally sir, I composed a subspace message to High Command and the Council with the same report as presented to you detailing the key elements of what went wrong during the incident. As you are now clearly aware, it was mostly due to the incompetence of the Engineering Staff and the inability of my more emotionally driven staff to respond to appropriate threat levels.

"In both my message and here, I humbly request that the ship be sent back to the Alpha Quadrant for immediate repairs. As your station engineers has no doubt realized, the ship is hardly capable of defending itself; furthermore, I also request that Commander Possible be removed from command pending court martial to answer for her egregious lack of knowledge in Command Affairs. You may have your security officers arrest her after this meeting is concluded."

At that final accusation, he saw Possible open her mouth in surprise and betrayal at the backstabbing Vulcan. Her military posture broke away temporally, leaving a stunned and hurt woman. Obviously, the bastard didn't inform her why she was to accompany him to the Admiral's office.

As for himself, he blanched at that addendum. A letter with this _Targ pe'taak_ in the hands of Barkin's political enemies could mean complete ruin for everyone in Gamma Quadrant. They would take that letter at face value, and destroy everything that he'd been building here. They could even pull the plug on Federation aid to New Bajor, seeing it as too risky of an investment. And Barkin would **_not_** let that happen.

And with the accusations to Possible…

Seeing a subtle nod from Major V'Lor eased his troubled thoughts. As Chief of Intelligence, V'Lor was directly connected to the Signals Office, and could thus either delay or even prevent subspace messages from exiting the theatre depending on the nature of the content.

Knowing that the situation regarding that particular time bomb was defused, it made it much easier for Barkin to proceed with his own envelopment. First though, he had to diffuse this situation.

"Request denied, Captain," he grounded out. "Based on contradicting data presented to my office."

Barkin saw V'Lor's eyebrow rise at the remark. "What contradicting data do you have, sir? I gave explicit orders for my department heads to present their findings to me so that I could present them to you."

In response, the Vice-Admiral pulled up the PADD that had been sitting quietly to his right.

"This is a collaborated report from Major V'Lor that differs slightly somewhat from your accounts, _Captain_ ," he began, letting a small predatory grin escape his control.

At that announcement, the Andorian was exceptionally pleased to see a moment of doubt and fear appear on the Vulcan's face, but it was quickly suppressed. "Major V'Lor's authority does not extend to _my_ ship, _sir_ ," he quoted standard regulations.

 _Fortunately, standard regulations don't apply when in Bandit Country_ , he relished. "Major V'Lor's coat buttons over a number of other duties, _Captain_."

Bringing the PADD up to his eyesight, he began. "Major V'Lor reports a number of losses, _Captain_. He first states, that instead of proceeding towards New Bajor at an acceptable cruising speed, _you_ pushed your engines beyond capacity _against_ the advice of your XO _and_ your Chief Engineer. And when the engines began to show stress and fatigue, you maintained that speed, insisting that they could hold.

"And when they finally overloaded, it was thanks to _both_ Lt. Commander Xames _and_ Commander Possible that the ship didn't explode do to _your_ arrogance. V'Lor then reports that despite the cascade failure reaching the bridge, it was far less destructive than what was described in your report. In fact, _you_ were simply knocked unconscious by a collapsed bulkhead while the rest of your staff were enveloped in massive electrical overloads."

Barkin doesn't let the Vulcan get a word in. "He then reports that you further lost your head when you threatened to arrest and court martial anyone who attempted to keep you in Sickbay to treat your injuries. He also accounted that you planned to do the exact same to Commander Possible when you arrived the bridge."

At that, the Andorian noticed Possible turn her head to V'Du in shock and outrage, but just as quickly as V'Du, recomposed herself to stiff attention. _Way to go soldier_ , he thought proudly.

"And the only thing that prevented this irresponsible course of action was the Orion attack. So unlike what was stated in your report, you were completely conscious and aware when the Orions made their jump, but you didn't do anything, did you?"

Not waiting for an answer, Barkin continued on, his voice beginning to show traces of his ire, "No sir, you didn't. V'Lor reports that while you were standing in shock on the bridge, Commander Possible and Lt. Commander Woad managed to hold off five Orion Interceptors despite the massive damages and overloads brought upon the ship by _your_ stupidity.

"However, the venture was not without its losses. 150 crewman, 15 officers, and three department heads. Not to mention the _materiale_ damage done to _your_ ship."

Barkin's voice became quiet and cold as the last piece of information was read off the Major's report. "Major V'Lor leaves the worst for last," he paused, letting the implications sink in, "he's says you allowed your entire Sickbay to be carted off to the mercies of the Syndicate."

A heavy pause filled the room at the announcement. V'Du broke it with his prepared protest. "The fault was not mine, sir. Lt. Commander Xames must answer…"

"COMMANDER XAMES ANSWERED FOR IT WITH HIS LIFE! AS YOU SHOULD HAVE IF YOU HAD ANY SENSE OF HONOR!" Barkin roared, springing to his feet, breaking V'Du's PADD against his desk. "You lost the pride and joy of Starfleet Medical! _Civilians,_ who only wanted to make the galaxy a better place."

"You _shamed_ us, sir! You _disgraced_ us, sir! You _will_ answer for it!" he concluded, expending all his anger and rage at this pitiful excuse for a Starfleet Officer.

Drained, he collapsed back into his chair, tossing the destroyed PADD on his desk. "The _Jackal_ has been stood down in name. If I wipe the name, I may wipe the shame," he paused again, considering what he was about to do. It would hurt the morale of the crew, but it was the only way to prevent V'Du from circumventing his authority.

"After replacing your personnel losses, I'm quarantining your ship. Your crew will not be allowed to disembark to any station unless I say otherwise, and any mention of this incident will be met with the strictest of consequences.

"However, despite the damages the _Jackal_ sustained, she and her sister ships still have a chance to redeem themselves. Once sufficient repairs are completed, I'm sending you back out on a search and destroy mission."

Still reeling from the tongue lashing, V'Du stuttered back, "but our weapons are destroyed beyond repair, and our shields have no effect. We expended all our torpedoes. How will we combat the Orions?"

"Spoken like true Battleship Captain," an accented voice spoke from the back of the room. It was deep, full of the ancient culture of the Motherland, brimming with a sense of duty and responsibility to his profession. The Terrans called it Russian, but Barkin preferred Siberian. Their climate appealed to him.

At the interruption, V'Du turned towards the new voice, his face morphed into a sneer at the outburst. "And what would an emotionally-controlled Russian Bear know about the interworkings of command?"

Barkin noticed that Captain Filitov wasn't even fazed by the jibe. He knew that Ivan Merconavich was a proud patriot and took his heritage very seriously, as any honorary Andorian would. So the fact that Filitov didn't shoot the prick in retort was a tantamount to his resilience and patience.

"I know that the _Jackal_ was not designed for fist fight, but rather for directing its hive mind of Talon Combat Fighters, _Tovarishch_ Captain," Barkin could feel the malice behind the honorary title.

He then continued. "You claim the _Jackal's_ weapons are useless. Fine. It was merely meant for self defense. While you were preparing report regarding incident, I was speaking to your engineering department. Or what was left of it," he added, his voice becoming cold steel.

"And I met two brilliant young men, an Ensign Xim and an Ensign Zim. They both informed me that in order to cold start Warp Core, they anchored the _Jackal's_ Talon Fighters to draw on their energy. The miraculous side effect was that anchoring the hangar docks prevented any damage done to those fighters."

He then turned to Barkin, fully addressing him, "the fighters are, in more or less, perfect condition. They simply need to repair the signal transponders on the exclave, and the _Jackal_ will become carrier functional once again."

"And the cloaking device?" Barkin asked, knowing the answer, but putting on the show for V'Du's benefit.

Filitov did as well. "Minimal damage, _Tovarishch_ Admiral. The Interceptors were more interested in attacking the _Jackal's_ weapons and shields. The cloaking device was inoperable purely due to _Command_ error," replied, looking back at V'Du in accusation.

"Well then, Captain V'Du," Barkin concluded, now resting his gaze back on the shriveling Vulcan, "it seems your ship was not as damaged as you believed. I wonder who presented the information concluding that the _Jackal_ was beyond repair. Someone who probably didn't want to go back out there," he shrugged. "I suppose we'll never know."

He then brought this inquisition to an end, "you have your orders, Captain. I suggest you get to it." Immediately, Barkin returned to his main PADD to record and sign the transcribed minutes of the briefing.

It seemed V'Du wasn't about to go down without the last word though. He slowly marched up until he was a couple of inches from the desk. In a low voice of his own, he made his last play, "My father is in the High Command, and I have family and colleagues in the Council."

Barkin stopped midstride in his writing, once again filling up with anger at V'Du's audacity. Leaving the PADD stylus in his hand, he slowly looked up straight in V'Du's cowardly eyes. His words were quiet, but they got the message across.

"A man who loses Federation Civilians to Slaver Pirates, loses the Federation's friendship."

He then brought his body up further to give V'Du his complete attention, "you have two choices Captain, to be a coward in the Alpha Quadrant or be a hero in the Gamma Quadrant. I shall help you to become a hero.

"We had a skirmish yesterday. In a few days, we shall have a battle. You will be the first to see an Orion Processing Facility. It is not a pretty sight. What you do then sir, is completely up to you. Good morning," he ended, returning back to his notes.

It took a few seconds for V'Du to recover, but he managed to give off a sharp salute before about facing and exiting the room. Commander Possible was about to do the same, but Barkin had other ideas.

"Possible, a moment."

Confused at the request, the woman turned back to Admiral, who was still fully in thought with his notes. After signing the previous set, he activated a different PADD and finally looked at his favorite SEFWAR Officer.

"Possible," he stretched the name out in frustration. "It was my decision to take you out of the R&D Department and make you First Officer of the _Jackal._ It was a decision not made lightly and was met with high protest from High Command. But compared with V'Du, you have performed exceptionally."

"I have even heard grumblings within the _Jackal_ , her _Defiant_ -class escorts, and even this station, that you would be a much more suitable captain." He saw her beam at his praise. He sighed inwardly. _Time to burst her bubble._

"Unfortunately, I'm in agreement with High Command about promoting you. You simply lack the command experience necessary to warrant a commission. Up to now, you have made exceptional command decisions when the situation thrusts authority onto you, and I am very proud of what you have accomplished, but in fairness to seniority and common sense, it would be irresponsible to move you to the chair."

"I understand, sir," and to Barkin's relief, he saw she did. Despite being currently led by incompetent fops, the system was based on precedence, and precedence said that a commander promoted too early could make a fatal decision in a time of crisis.

With that docket taken care of, he moved to an even more dangerous subject. "Also, there are rumors, Possible. Rumors regarding a mission to rescue the captured civilians. Despite the atrocity committed to the service, the _Jackal_ cannot go gallivanting off in the Gamma Quadrant looking for the lost men and women. Not in her condition."

He then brought out the figurative phaser. "Swear to me on oath, that this just idle gossip, or I promise you, I will see to it that you are on the next shuttle back to the Alpha Quadrant," he commanded in dead seriousness.

To her benefit, Commander Possible gazed back in her strongest professional stance. "I swear, on oath, that no one heard me make such a promise in respect to the departed."

 _Clever girl_. He leaned back in his chair smirking. "Captain Filitov,"

" _Tovarishch_ Admiral?"

"You may escort the _Jackal's_ XO back to her ship," Barkin commanded, his antennae leaning back satisfied.

" _Da_ _Tovarishch_ ," he paused, " _Spasibo_ ," he added.

"And Captain, make plans to transfer you affects over to the _Jackal_. It seems Commander Possible could use all the help she could get."

"Of course, sir," he nodded, playing his part. "It shall be as you say."

Commander Possible and Captain Filitov both saluted and left the Admiral with his Spymaster. When the doors closed behind the two, Barkin slumped in his chair exhausted. Immediately, he reached down to his desk and brought out a vintage bottle of Andorian Ale and two glasses. He turned over to his Spymaster and friend. "You're right, I do hate this plan."

V'Lor took a step over to the admiral, uncharacteristically sighing in the process. "I understand sir, but it is – as the Terrans say – the hand we've been dealt. Not doing anything would cause a mutiny at the best. At worst, it could mean the end of the relations with the Regency of Trill."

"How the hell did we miss having royalty within the Corps? How did _you_ miss it?" he asked, flabbergasted that his oldest friend had let something this big slip between the cracks.

Accepting a reasonable amount of the blue liquor, V'Lor reply was simple. "Despite my reputation sir, I do not know everything. This whole situation was supposedly being played close to the chest, and I was only brought aware of this when the _Jackal_ arrived at station."

"What was supposed to happen?" Barkin asked, downing his glass in one gulp.

V'Lor took a small sip, much to Barkin's irritation. "Once they made contact, Major Stoppable was to report to New Bajor, where two Trill Symbiot Priests were to transfer the Symbiot to a stasis container for transport back to their home world. It was supposed to be a discreet matter. And what says discreet better than the other side of the galaxy?"

"Great, so now they realize that something has obviously gone wrong and they're asking questions?"

"I believe they are already aware of the situation, sir. I managed to delay any messages sent to Trillius Prime, but I can't keep them here indefinitely. You are going to have to speak with them regarding how we plan to recover him."

"Wonderful," he groused, "just add that on to my plate. It's not as if I have other things to attend to. I have a ship falling apart at the seams. I have a political captain trying to stab me in the back. I have a resurgent enemy steal the best and brightest of Starfleet Medical. I have a silent unknown that apparently is the true master of the Gamma Quadrant. Let's go ahead and add the fucking Lost Monarch of Trill to the pile."

Barkin's eyes must have been playing tricks on him, because he could have sworn that V'Lor was grinning at his misery. If it wasn't, he was going to throttle him, friend or not. His ears weren't playing tricks when he heard the response. "You might have another problem, sir."

"Tread carefully, Major, or I'll promote you and let you deal with it," he jibed.

"It's regarding the Augment Company aboard the _Jackal_ , sir," V'Lor replied, completely ignoring the slant.

"What about them?" Barkin asked.

"They're acting… different sir," V'Lor explained. "They're making independent decisions, displaying emotion in concerning abundance. Sir, they're making casual conversations."

"I know," Barkin replied immediately.

V'Lor blinked at that. "Y-you know sir?"

"Yes, it was my decision."

"With respect sir, you can't just order an Augment to turn on emotion. They're genetically engineering to suppress such things," V'Lor tried to explain.

"No," Barkin replied, "but I can group together all the marines that can."

V'Lor sat in stunned silence, and to Barkin's delight, swallowed the entire glass of Ale. Barkin quickly poured another for both of them.

The Andorian continued, "come on V'Lor, even with Vulcan logic, there are always outliers in any experiment, and the Marine Augment Program is no exception. Eventually, one out of every two hundred augments still retains limited emotional cognitive functions, and I made the executive decision to group those outliers together into Delta Company as an experiment of my own."

"Do you realize what that could've done?" V'Lor asked, once again downing his glass. Barkin poured another.

"Yes," he replied. "I could've inadvertently created the next Khan Noonien Singh with a set of men who would follow him blindly. Which was why I took precautions."

"And what would those be, sir?" V'Lor asked, his hand shaking at the thought of a bunch of Modern Augments rampaging around the Alpha _and_ the Gamma Quadrant.

"I didn't inform them of their condition. As far as each was concerned, their brothers and sisters were just as normal as regular marines. And I put my two most trusted Marines in charge of them."

"Major Stoppable?" V'Lor ventured.

"And Gunnery Sergeant Ruuf. Although when I knew the man, he was Major Kragen. Damn Symbiot," he downed his glass and continued. "They kept the men in line, but slowly brought out the best of them. From the reports you gave me, it seemed my decision was wise."

At that, V'Lor nodded. "Indeed sir. Their independent thinking allowed them to create a salvaged sickbay and engineering station, not to mention make tactical decisions in repelling the boarders," he conceded.

"Exactly! They became my best men. The best company of soldiers in the Galaxy. And, they are still loyal to Federation ideals, in spite of their emotions. V'Lor, this company could become the future of the Stellar Marine Corps!"

"And the Symbiot?" V'Lor asked.

"Unintentional," Barkin admitted. "Out of the marines in Delta Company, only Kragen didn't possess the genetic defect. With that lock in place, the Augments would have no one to follow should they succumb to their emotional desire for supremacy. From what I hear, the Symbiot completely destroyed that lock, giving this new Major Stoppable full access to his emotions."

"Why didn't the Civilian Inspectors notice?"

"Apparently, he was still under the impression that his men's emotions were still contained. He must have felt that they would immediately betray him if he slipped up. So he began the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr. After weeks of intensive practice, he could've given you a run for your money."

"Impressive," V'Lor breathed, amazed at the Marine's discipline. "He hid his emotions behind logic and structure. A worthy goal."

"Of course you'd love it," Barkin groaned.

"Still, his men were clearly displaying emotions like the Terrans. If Stoppable was suppressing his emotions and impulses, why weren't his men?"

"Like I said, no man is perfect. He occasionally slips, and for Augments who are sensitive to those kind of things, they are easily noticeable; however, after they accepted that he wasn't going to turn into a sociopathic killer, they slowly to began to accept him. Which led to them to occasionally let their guard down.

"Thus making them what they are today," V'Lor concluded.

"Yes."

"But now that their leader is missing?" V'Lor began,

"They will go through hell and back to rescue him, and make their family whole once again," Barkin finished.

"You saw this coming, didn't you sir?"

"Yes. Sergeant Ruuf has always had a charismatic side to him. I knew that he could rally the entire 7th Fleet to find their courageous comrades if he wished, but he'll settle for three ships. At least I managed to insulate Possible from his retribution."

"You know that she has just as much investment in this rescue as does the Sergeant. The Major did save her life," V'Lor reminded.

Barkin nodded. "Of course, but on paper, it will state that she had no prior knowledge to this undertaking. And with Filitov ready to take over once V'Du abandons his sense of honor and duty again, it will further guarantee the image that Possible was just along for the ride."

"Clever sir," V'Lor admitted.

"Thank you, Major. It's rare that and Andorian receives praise from a Vulcan."

"It still doesn't mean something will go wrong," V'Lor cautioned.

"I know. V'Du can somehow fuck it up mid-stride. The man has a disturbing ability for finding danger in the most unlikely of places, but it's the best chance we got at finding the Major and as many of the doctors as possible."

Downing his last shot of Andorian Ale and feeling just drunk enough to interact with these damn politicians, he rose up with the Major.

"And now, let's go deal with these Trill Priests."

 _A/N:_

 _Yes, another chapter down._

 _As you can see, there are some major players involved in this story, not just the Jackal. I hope you like this level of intrigue and deception. Next chapter's going to have Ron again and introduce our green friends. Yay!_

 _To answer some of your questions, no, this story is not JJverse. It had cool graphics, but I will not allow Vulcan to be blown up. This is simply a darker and more realistic version of how the Federation evolved after the Xindi probe killed 20 million people and Starfleet Headquarters (that's my shift in the timeline)._

 _I've also been getting a lot of reviews and PMs about making Possible eventual Captain of the Jackal. Unfortunately, as Barkin explained, that would extremely unwise. Kim has spent nearly ten years in R &D building ships, not commanding them. So to give her command of a frontline prototype vessel would be very irresponsible. She has to learn how to lead first before sitting in the chair, and the only one who can teach that is Filitov._

 _Also, now that he is in the story, I have an announcement to make. Ivan Merconavich Filitov is my creation. Mine! I put a lot of thought into him. He's actually the Sole Survivor in my Fallout 4 Fanfiction I'm making. He will also be reappearing in other future stories. If you want to reference him for any reason, please ask first._

 _Remember, if you have questions, review or PM me. If you don't, review anyway. Your comments make me want to get through work and come home to write and_ _ **not**_ _play Fallout 4._

 _KPRS Splicer signing off._


	10. ACT III Part III

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Here is the third scene in Act III. Sorry about the week delay, got caught up with work. Hope this chapter makes up for it. Its kinda short, but I hope it gets the message across._

 _Thanks again for all the reviews. You guys are awesome with the praise. I'm glad that there is a KP/Star Trek niche out there. It makes me not feel so lonely. Keep em coming. I'm addicted to them._

 _When you're reading this chapter, keep in mind that this is the uncensored and realistic version of how the Orionisi operate. The content itself is not M-Rated (at least I hope), but the implications of how the Orionisi males and females operate are very much so._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Shego recognize Ron more and the Syndicate would reflect how it is the men who are the slaves._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT III– PART III_**

Major Rondexus Stoppable was under attack.

Not from an outside threat, but from within himself. In particular, he was suffering from memories that weren't even his to begin with. Every time, the nightmare began the same.

"State your name and rank."

"Rondexus Krag…"

"Hey loser! I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, look, it's the buffoon!"

"What a freak! Stay away from me!"

"Lazy and useless!"

"Imposter!"

"You thief!"

"Outsider!"

Millions of alien thoughts and flashbacks filled his mind, plaguing him with tortured memories that his past host was forced to deal with. Every memory was associated with pain. Every feeling was accompanied by despair and loneliness. Even the memories of parents forgotten were nowhere to be found. The evidence was clear.

Ronald Dean Stoppable led a lonely life.

That didn't stop the memories from flowing through his unconscious mind. Every time the Major felt he achieved a modicum of inner peace within the turmoil of emotion, another memory assaulted his mind, breaking the fragile wall of structure.

The memories kept their attack. A brunette calling him a loser. A weird monkey man trying to kill him. A blue maniac forgetting his name. A Japanese punk screaming racist obscenities at him. And the icing on the cake – an empty house showing zero appreciation.

The most terrifying aspect to the unconscious marine was that the nightmare never ended. He didn't wake up drenched in sweat. He never felt that sweet relief when the nightmare was over. It just repeated itself over and over again, and it was starting to wear him down.

After what seemed like the fiftieth iteration, Major Stoppable wondered how his past host didn't lose his mind from the endless onslaught of his tormentors. _How the hell did he manage to survive all of this? What kept him afloat for over twenty years of high school prejudice?_

Sensing the question, his subconscious seemed to take a nose dive into the vault of Ronald's memories, and it quickly caught something magnificent. While most of Ronald's memories were as black as they felt, this memory – or rather the person and embodiment – was completely different. It gave off such light, warmth, love, and strength that the plague memories were suppressed and shut down into the little box from whence they came. The pain, suffering, and agony of the darkness within Ronald's past were banished, leaving only strength, love, and duty.

Duty towards Kimberly Ann Possible.

"You're my best friend. Nothing will ever change that."

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

"Don't you **EVER** call him a loser again!"

"That buffoon just single handily KO'd your henchmen and destroyed your device and lair!"

"Don't you get it? I'M the distraction!"

"Don't you understand? I could never save the world without you."

"He is the Chosen One! You're the imposter!"

"The next time I hear that word, I'll shove my outsider foot up your Iwo Jima ass!"

"I-I think I'm in love with you!"

Like a salve on a wound, those beautiful memories wiped away the mental injuries and created one of the strongest mental barriers he had ever felt. In short, Major Stoppable had never felt so much love and appreciation in his entire life. And it wasn't even for him. The Kim from Ronald's memories was protecting Ronald by protecting the Major.

The realization hit him like a stone wall: Major Rondexus Kragen had fully bonded with the Shimaru Symbiont, and if it was removed, the procedure would kill him. He would be Major Stoppable for the rest of his life.

Apparently, the thought was sobering enough to end his hibernation and healing trance. The major reached for consciousness, grabbing the slender but strong ropes that would lead him back to mortal world and away from his endless torments and permanent alien memories.

He slowly opened his eyes and immediately recognized something was out of place. The colors were all wrong. Instead of the subtle blue and whitish hue that Starfleet seemed to love, the color here was bright green and midnight black. It seemed more ominous and foreboding than what he was used to, and strangely familiar. He shoved that thought to the side.

He then recognized that he was bound and restricted to some type of table. Even his head was secured in clamps. He couldn't move at all, and slivers of fear began creeping past his defenses. _I am Augment, damn it, blessed with the strength of three Vulcans. Why the hell can't I move?_

At first, he thought he was paralyzed. As his mind replayed the images before falling unconscious, the possibility seemed likely. _Shielding the commander was stupid and irresponsible, but the similarities between her and my Kimberly was too great. I just reacted on his instinct._

He didn't even bother correcting the pronoun in his head. The Symbiont was fully integrated into him now. He was now Ronald Dean Stoppable and Rondexus Kragen. He was also one of the many Monarchs of Trill now, but he didn't even want to think about that right now.

Returning to the situation, he thought about the paralysis once again, but after applying some logic, he dismissed the theory. He could clearly feel the clamps digging into his skin. He could still shuffle his feet, just not much. One of Ronald's memories of a turtle-encased Tai Lung came to mind, but thankfully, rocks weren't hanging over a cliff face holding his arms down. _Augment or not, that could easily dislocate both my shoulders._

He tried moving again, applying even more force to the clamps on his arms, trying desperately to break them, but a soothing, almost hypnotic voice broke his concentration.

"Oh, I wouldn't struggle too much, dear. You might hurt yourself."

The major stopped dead in his tracks. _That voice_ , he paused. _It couldn't be?_ He's heard that feminine voice numerous times. The only difference was the absence of boredom and sarcasm. This tone was almost the opposite. It was seductive, soothing, entrancing, and filled with a trigger that tugged at his core male desires.

"Here, why don't you relax and I'll raise you up. I wouldn't want you to damage all the hard work the doctor put into you," the voice cooed. Stoppable couldn't stop himself from complying. It was like a drug. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear more of the voice, and he would do anything to hear it again.

All of a sudden, the upper half of the table was rising, while the bottom half reacted to prevent the clamps from crushing him in half. In a few seconds, the major went from being bolted to a table to being bolted to makeshift chair.

As the machine came to its rest, he could've taken in his surroundings. The room he was bolted in was spacious. There was a terminal to the side, a desk, a bed. It almost appeared to be someone's quarters. If he would've looked closely, he would've realized the contraption he was bolted to was installed haphazardly.

Instead, the major found himself drowning in the largest and greenish eyes he'd ever seen. In those eyes he saw lust, desire, and something dark within them. Tearing his gaze away from her eyes, he took in the rest of his captor.

She was breathtaking. Her body was sculpted to perfection, full lips arranged in a permanent, mischievous smirk, dark raven black hair which only accented and beautify her green skin and eyes. A voluptuously curved body, accentuated by her scandalous clothing and cuffs. Everything about her screamed woman and power.

And he felt himself responding to it like some horny teenager. Leaning to the side with one hand on her sculpted and revealing hip, she exuded sexuality and desire like an antimatter warhead, demanding to be satisfied, no matter the cost.

 _What is happening to me?_ he screamed in his head, terrified that his lust and desire was slowly overpowering him to the point of madness. He remembered vaguely about some dangerous ability of Orion females, but his mind was so muddled that he couldn't place it. He wanted her so badly, and he would do anything to please her.

"Like what you see, soldier boy?" she asked teasingly.

Major Stoppable swallowed hard, shoving down the lump in his throat. _Control yourself marine_! The analytical and Augmented discipline commanded, but it provided little relief. The previous hosts of the Symbiont were screaming for satisfaction, and twenty minds were a lot louder than one.

"Who are you?" the major grounded out, desperately hoping that he could distract those mesmerizing eyes that were driving his hormones crazy.

"Who me? I'm your savior," she giggled, swaying her hips as she glided closer to him. The heat building within him exploded tenfold. He was on the brink of losing sentient thought. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "but you can call me Sey'lena Gogh."

Shivers raced down his body, and he involuntarily forced himself against the restraints. He had never felt such passion within himself. He didn't know what was going to happen.

All his life, before and after the Marine Program, he maintained control over his emotions and desires. He idolized the Vulcan foundation of logic. Logic allowed their people to achieve great things in their longs lives, and Stoppable always hoped he would find the same piece of mind when he became a marine.

And now this woman above him was threatening to take his precious control away from him. And the most damning thing of all: he wanted her to take it. He had never felt such lust and desire for a woman before. It was almost if he would die unless he achieved release.

His marine piece was screaming at him to reestablish control over himself. It made sense. Marines were essentially neutered, although some managed to find spouses and create peaceful lives after the service. But the Symbiont, which carried twenty other males within its conscience, was under no such restraint. Testosterone and images were flooding from the Symbiont into his mind, overwhelming his defenses and unleashing his Augmented Primal Lust.

She swayed behind him, trailing her warm finger along his arm up to his shoulder. Another wave of passion and heat exploded through him, causing him to clench his fist so tight that he drew blood. He could feel every single beat of his heart racing. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he was panting due to excess adrenaline.

"Please," he whispered through clenched teeth, "stop."

He felt disgusted with himself. Here he was, a marine, pleading with this irresistible woman like some hopeless civilian. To make matters worse, his attempt fell on deaf ears, as she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her "assets" into his shoulders. He groaned loudly in response.

"You know, I've had many men before, but never a Starfleet Marine. You brutes are just asexual automatons that kill people. But you, I must admit, are almost irresistible. I've never seen such passion in your eyes. I'm almost tempted to continue to torture you, but I find myself curious on how you'd react if I'd release you."

Stoppable knew what would happen. He would most likely kill her trying to obtain his release. He could already feel the cobalt blood seeping down his limbs as he futilely attempted to break free from his restraints. As of now, he felt like a rabid animal, with only one thing on his mind – mate, mate or die.

"Help me Kimberly, please," he implored, staring at the abyss between man and animal.

While Sey'lena gave him a confused look, his Symbiont found a response to his appeal. Once again, the bright light which saved him from his nightmares returned tenfold. It blanketed him with love and strength – love for Ronald Stoppable who had fallen prey to the dangerous pheromones of the Orion female and strength for the host to beat back this invader. Once again, the memory and spirit of Kimberly Anne Possible reached out and saved a complete stranger in order to save her husband's spirit.

Slowly, but surely, the major felt the lust and uncontrolled desire recede from his body like high tide retreating back into the ocean. Gradually, his breathing began to normalize, his blood pressure dropped, and his body stopped shaking. He felt control slowly return to him. Kimberly Anne had reigned in the Symbiont.

As his mind returned to lucidity, Sey'lena moved back in front of him and locked gazes with her captive. While Stoppable saw the same heated lust and desire within her emerald eyes, he also saw confusion. It slowly expanded past her eyes into her face as she realized the man, who just previously was ready to do whatever she commanded, morph into the typical and passionless marine.

"Impossible," she whispered, "I almost had you."

Though the major still felt her radiating pheromones, they were tolerable and his mind could easily contend with them. His response was calm and collected. "You almost did, but then I realized something."

He saw Sey'lena's face scrunch into a sneer, "and what's that?" she challenged.

"That I'm a lot stronger than you think I am," he calmly retorted, and with that, he made his play.

It would have never come to him while he was distracted by her wild charms, but with a clear head, he realized that the weakest part of the table was the hinge itself. So instead of applying his strength to his extremities, he focused all of it into his core and crunched the table in half.

The fall was not graceful. He landed hard on his side and let out a grunt of pain. Still though, he had some movement and could work with that. Sey'lena, to her credit, was faster than he would have guessed. Apparently, hidden within her cuffs were two plasma disrupters.

With a hiss, Major Stoppable quickly rolled to the side to avoid two plasma bolts that nearly singed his hair. _Great, she looks like Shego, she as sexy as Shego, and she fights like Shego. All were missing is a blue faced megalomaniac, and some henchmen,_ he groused.

It turns out though that the memories worked to his advantage. His mind anticipated where the next set of bolts would originate, and he rolled into position just for them to rip through his left arm restraints. He didn't get out unfazed. The burns to his arm and hand hurt like hell, but he just forced the pain down like a good marine.

With his left arm free, he quickly ripped the restraints from his right, dogged another salvo, and ripped the restraints on his legs. He was free and ready to tango. "Thanks Ron-man." He paused, "Oh crap, did I really just say that?"

"Why…won't…you…stand…still, you little bastard!?" Sey'lena shouted as she ripped though the entire room with plasma. She would've said more, but the major managed to duck and roll right into her like a freight train, knocking her to the ground.

Dazed, she tried to kick him away, but the major was faster. He grabbed her wrists and crushed them beneath his grip. She screamed as the cuffs imploded beneath his strength and left permanent burns on her arms.

And then just as quickly, she felt a steel hand wrap around her throat and raise her into the air. Using her damaged arms, she tried to break his grip, only to meet his own cobalt eyes filled with nothing but cold and calculating darkness.

"One more inch of pressure and I crush your larynx. So stop squirming," he calmly commanded.

It had the desired effect. She stopped trying to punch him and instead grabbed onto his outstretched arm to keep from choking. Stoppable looked into her eyes again and saw fear, but also something else. He knew that something. It was same look he had when realized he could break free.

He tried to call her on it. "I'm leaving, and you're my ticket out of here."

She smirked. _Damn it!_ "I don't think so hon. You're on my ship, in my system, in my sector. This is the Omicron Frontier, and I'm its Lady and Mistress."

He raised her higher in intimidation. "Yeah, well the Omicron Frontier is about one second away from finding a successor. Don't think I won't do it. You said it yourself: I'm just an asexual automaton that kills people."

The smirk never left her face. "Oh I don't doubt that, even when you were under my spell, I knew you still had the ability, but if I die, then who's going to save your friends?"

At that, confusion lit up the major's face. "What are you talking about?"

Her grin got even bigger. "See for yourself," she choked, gesturing to the monitor in the room which somehow miraculously survived their little spar. "Go ahead, I'll wait."

He thought about it for a second. It could be a trap. That console could shock me call for reinforcements or just transport me into space. He released his grip, and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath. "Turn it on, and show me," he commanded. "Any funny business and I'll snap your neck."

"Is that all you want to do to me?" she quibbled, but he ignored the stirrings within. Seeing nothing but a cold expression, she sighed, "worth a shot." She quickly inputted a quick command, and the screen lit up, showing a disgusting and filthy prison hold filled with almost thirty cowering women. "Recognize any of them?" she asked, knowing the answer.

Major Stoppable's heart stopped. He knew every single one of those scared faces: Tara Strong, Bonnie Waller, Crystal Steele, Jessica Day, Hope Fawn, and Marcella Gold of the SEFWAR Department, Yori Tanaka of the Talon Squadron, and many other doctors and nurses. What really terrified him the most was the redhead Denobulan. Though it appeared that she was taking charge of the cowering women, he could see she was just putting on a front for appearances.

Stunned by what he saw, he was only partially aware of Sey'lena wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. She was whispering in his ear again. "Flip to the next screen," she cooed, "go ahead."

He did so, and the pit in stomach plummeted again. "You see all those Orion males. Who do you think is keeping them in order? Who do you think is keeping those girls' precious virtue intact, huh? Those _males_ ," she sneered at the title with venom, "are mindless brutes. They need a firm woman's hand to keep them on some course of civility."

She wrapped herself around him tighter around him, and the major once again felt desire rise in him as she pressed her soft body to his, "you take away that firm hand, then what's to stop them from reverting to their basic instincts. They'll find the first female in reach, and plow right threw them."

Her mouth was inches from his ear, and it took a little self control to not groan at her warm breath. "And there is nothing you could do to stop them. An unrestrained Orion male will not stop, will not yield, will not relent until they expend themselves completely."

Sey'lena then drove the nail home. "Oh by the way, unlike most humanoids, Orion males can go all night without rest. Sometimes for as long as a week."

Major Stoppable sighed. He knew when he was beaten. It was why he didn't shake her off him. It was why he couldn't simply threaten her or inflict a non-lethal injury. One click, one message, and the Orion horde would be unleashed on his crewmates.

"What do you want?"

He felt Sey'lena let out a purr of excitement. "Oh, you are so different than the marines my ancestors whined and complained about. Oh, you should have heard how Navaar complained about how those sterile marines drove us from our home. On and on and on. So boring."

"But your different, soldier boy." She playfully turned him around and invaded his personal space once again. He thanked his lucky stars for Kimberly's help, otherwise… he shuddered in fear.

"Aww, are you scared? Don't worry, I don't bite… too much that is. In case you were wondering, you were not my master plan. Originally, all I wanted was some cargo to sell, maybe take on a new boy toy, you know, keep the engine running."

The major then saw her eyes flicker in mild anger, "but because of that stunt with your ship, I ended up losing money on that job. I lost four ships, and what do I get in return? Thirty useless women, and a couple comatose patients. That barely just pays for the maintenance of my own ship… not to mention my tribute…" she grumbled the last part, mostly to herself.

Her eyes then light up, and she hugs the major, pressing herself to him again, invading his senses with her intoxicating scent. "But then you come along, my soldier boy. With your little friends as leverage, I get my very own marine. Jackpot!"

"Let's be clear, you harm any of them, and the deals off," he interjected.

"Oh silly, that's not how it works," Sey'lena playfully slapped his chest, "I could kill half of them right now, and you'd still be mine. So long as one of them is alive and under threat, you'd do whatever I say."

"Alright, let me be clear. Eventually, something will occur that will put me in a position of power once again, and when that happens and if any one of them is injured in any way, I will make it my personal mission to make your life a living hell. Get it?" he grabbed her shoulders to drive the point across.

He knew she understood. Someone who managed to achieve her position in life wasn't prone to overconfidence. She was reminded the hard way when she tried attacking a ship that was supposedly dead in the water.

She dropped the flirty act. "Very well, you have my word as a Mistress of the Syndicate that those slaves will not be harmed, nor will harm ever be allowed to befall them." He then saw her draw an invisible hexagon with a single slash through her chest. Had he known, he would recognize it as a makeshift gesture of the Syndicate Crest.

Accepting her word, he released her shoulders, and she immediately went into his arms again. "Oh, isn't this exciting, a joint venture between Starfleet and the Orion Syndicate. I'm so ecstatic!" To the major's shock, she started peppering tiny kisses onto his neck, leaving tendrils of fire in their wake. "Do you realize how long its been since I've been with a real man?" she moaned into his ear again.

Stoppable really didn't want to answer that question. This was getting way too personal for his taste. He gently pushed her away, his screaming libido suppressed by his and Kimberly's will. "What do you mean?" he asked, praying that she would leave it alone.

She sent him another mischievous smirk. "You know what I'm talking about, hon. Do you realize all I've had to put up with are those disgusting males?" she spat again. "They're animals. They don't know true passion, true tenderness." She shook her raven hair and gazed into his eyes again, "but you do, my little soldier boy. Despite being a jarhead, you've managed to retain your passions. Your fondness for life. Your…" she pressed herself forward again, grazing her leg on his lower extremities "aptitude for pleasure."

He felt his control slipping again, but this time, it was not an animalistic desire. Instead it was more subdued. She was right, he was excited, and her perfect, curvy, and soft body seductively pressed against his was driving him crazy. He knew it wasn't the pheromones. Kimberly was keeping that in check. This was his own desire, the desire Major Kragen had within himself before his Augmentation. For the first time in his entire life, he found himself wanting something more than servicing his nation, his Federation.

He wanted her. And she wanted him.

It was then that he made his second big decision of the day. He enveloped her in his arms and found her mouth in a searing kiss that shook the ship. At once, both of their built up passions were released in the exchange. He had never kissed a woman before but found he was a quick study. In another moment, their mouths parted and tongues lashed out at each other, each one fighting for dominance.

Coming up for air, he looked into her eyes, eyes that once held only darkness and deception, but now only desire and passion. She wanted this as badly as he did. No ulterior motive. No hidden agenda, just the simple release of the tension and stress of managing her empire.

She gave him her first genuine smile since their encounter. "Now that's how a real man kisses. I knew you were cultured. So strong and deadly, yet full of warmth and feeling. We are going to have so much fun," she repeated.

"Shut up," he groused, before picking her up in his arms, taking her mouth to his and carrying her to the bed.

Because for the rest of the night, they were not on opposite sides. They weren't slavers or marines. They weren't good or evil. They were simply a man and a woman, experiencing and sharing the most intimate of acts and silently praying that the night would never end.

 _A/N:_

 _Quick Sidebar: I just watched one of the many Kung-Fu Panda clips on YouTube, and kind of incorporated Tai-Lung's escape into the story. So if you guys caught that, kudos to you._

 _So, there's another chapter. Did I shock you with the ending? I kinda shocked myself. But as I'm writing this story, I starting to feel and believe that because of the Major's memories of the KP and RS relationship, anything that he feels for the Commander will be tainted, as if the only reason he felt that way was due to the Symbiont, thus breaking a huge rule in Trill Society: Reassociation or the resumption of a romantic relationship between at least one joined Trill and a person with whom the Symbiont's previous host was romantically involved._

 _I know technically they're not the same person, but their similarities are so similar that Stoppable will question his relationship with Possible every day, and that would be severely unfair to them both. I am also not saying that Sey'lena is Stoppable's love interest. They are just two people who got caught up in their emotions. It happens all the time._

 _So keep that in mind when you're writing the inevitable flames for having "Ron" hook up with "Shego" even though my name says KPRS Splicer. If you look closely, they've already had their relationship, and it's time for the Symbiont to move on._

 _With that in mind, I eagerly await your reviews. Flames or Praise, let me have it._

 _KPRS Splicer signing off._


	11. ACT III Part IV

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Here is the fourth scene in Act IV. This chapter has definite smacks of RONGO in it, so be warned. Again, review if you have questions. That's what it's there for._

 _When you're reading this chapter, keep in mind that this is the uncensored and realistic version of how the Orionisi operate. The content itself is not M-Rated (at least I hope), but the implications of how the Orionisi males and females operate are very much so._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Shego act more gray than black and white (Catwoman like thief rather than super-villian), and the Syndicate would further detail the hierarchy of their culture._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT III– PART IV_**

Sey'lena found herself tracing the scars on her lover's back.

She was curious and worried – curious as to why she gave a damn and worried because of the possible answers. Had she read any of those cheesy Terran romance novel that are somehow still being printed, Sey'lena would have considered last night to have been perfect.

Never in her entire life had she felt so pampered and well tended. Usually her mates – consumed as they are in their pheromone induced frenzy – would take what they want and become addicted to her grace for the rest of their lives. They would not be gentle. They would not be kind. And they certainly would not be considerate to their mate's well being. They would care only about their own lust and their own desire.

This major – whose back she was still tracing with the upmost fascination – was different. If was the first time ever her mate – _no_ , she begrudgingly corrected herself, _her lover_ – wasn't under a trance. She would have sworn he was under when she first met him.

During that time, the plan followed her tried and true method. She planned to charm and seduce every single piece of classified information out of him, 'complete' the bond – with the Major restrained of course – and he would then pledge his life to her in eternal servitude.

The was the plan. It worked before. It was about to work again. But then, the unthinkable happened. As if a switch was thrown, Sey'lena watched in amazement how the Major's eyes were suddenly filled with lucidity, and how everything within him began to slow down and calm itself. For Sey'lena, the most terrifying part came right after.

It was his voice. A voice that was as calm as a painted sea, yet filled with dark steel and ferocious determination. She knew then and there that all her plans were thrown out the window, and that Stoppable was just about to free himself.

It was because of that realization that Sey'lena was prepared at all to deal with the loose marine. Faster than she thought possible, Sey'lena managed to activate her wrist disrupters and attempt to put down this unstoppable machine. The trouble was she didn't know how. She was a seductress who used what the Foremothers gave her to put her weaker and inferior male counterparts in their place.

Stoppable was neither weak nor inferior. He was and is the epitome of male strength. Bred for war, yet tamed with intelligence and loyalty, he was a force she was not familiar with. And every time she let out a shot of plasma, she stared down those eyes which had morphed into cobalt-blue steel filled with absolution yet absent of pity and mercy.

In the end, she blinked.

Using her free arm, Sey'lena subconsciously rubbed her singed and damaged wrists where Stoppable crushed her disrupters. She sighed. _Looks like Dhrakin will have to make another set. Sometimes I wonder why I keep him around._ She knew the answer. He amused her, in a masochistic sort of way.

Still though, there was nothing masochistic about how in one moment Sey'lena felt like being hit by a shuttle pod and the next moment hanging up from the air clinging to dear life. She had never felt so powerless before. _And to a man nonetheless,_ she grumbled. It made her feel weak. It made her question everything her mother and foremother taught her. But most shockingly of all, it unlocked a passion and heat that she had never felt before.

Even when she managed to turn the tables on the marine once more, seeing the look of defeat in his eyes when she explained the futility of his situation, the simple fact that she was bargaining with a male who was not consumed ate at Sey'lena.

For the first time in her life, Sey'lena wanted a man. She wanted this man. It was why she made the offer. It was why she made the Oath of Orion – an oath that pledged her life, wealth, and personal honor as collateral – to protect those useless and ultimately fruitless investments. And it was why when the man under the mask was finally freed, did she herself give into her passions.

And in short, it was the best night of her life. He treated her as if a prized possession, loving her, caressing her, pleasuring her to levels of ecstasy she had never felt in her long career of seduction. At the same time, she found herself reciprocating. She actively sought to bring him to the same level she was experiencing.

Together, they rode wave after wave of pleasure and release, learning each other's moves, tender spots, and synchronizations. Sey'lena taught him things no book was capable of, and Stoppable showed her the true dichotomy of the Stellar Marine – that beneath his calm façade was an animal waiting to be unleashed. An animal that was both powerful and strong, yet also tender and comforting.

It was a night that neither wished to end, but eventually after six hours of unending lovemaking, did the two finally collapse from exhaustion and fall into each other's arms for the best night's sleep in both of their lives.

"Perfection," she whispered.

"I couldn't agree more," the owner of the scars responded.

Sey'lena jumped at the response, momentarily withdrawing her hands from his chiseled, but damaged back. In that time, Stoppable managed to roll over and wrap his arms around her in a gentle, but protective embrace. _Protective_ , she thought suddenly, _that's a new one._

"What's wrong," he asked, his voice laced with concern. _How strange. No one has ever felt concerned for me before._

Even still, Sey'lena couldn't help herself from rubbing her nose along his Trill spots that ran alongside his collarbone and breathing in his scent. _What is happening to me?_ "Nothing, soldier boy. You just startled me," she sweetly replied. "I didn't expect you to hear that."

Hearing her response, Sey'lena felt Stoppable release her from his embrace, leaving an empty feeling in her stomach to her repeated shock. "My apologies. Many underestimate the power of Augment hearing."

 _Of course he has super hearing. He's super perfect_. _Still though, no time like the present to fish for some more information_. Just thinking that increased the hollow feeling, but she forced it down. _Now was the time for work, not feelings_. "Really, I never imagined," she cooed, once again running her hands down his arms and receiving a shudder in response to her absolute delight. "That must come quite in handy with your enhanced eye sight and smell, right?"

The major closed his eyes in bliss at her siren voice and shuddered once again. Sey'lena knew it wasn't from the pheromones. She also realized that the Augment was completely immune to the mating bond established between herself and her slaves. If she thought about it, she was glad of it. It made every blissful look, every shudder, and every seductive growl more authentic, more real, and not just simple chemistry or telepathy.

"Indeed it does, my dear," he growled back, compensating for his increasing libido.

Sey'lena, on the other hand, once again felt the pit in her stomach tug hard at the title. _My dear? It's always Mistress or Madame and filled with absolute contempt and not-so-subtle-desire. Not 'My dear' spoken with affection and endearment. Uggh! What is happening to me?_

The distraction and inner battle within her caused Sey'lena to reply not-so-subtly, "and how well are they?"

Sey'lena watched in panic and fear as Stoppable's eyes transition from loving and peaceful to guarded and cautious. She also watched in dismay his body began to reflect that stance as well, his arms and barrel chest tensing and tactfully pulling away from her, taking his warmth with him.

Sey'lena shuddered this time, though for different and far more depressing reasons.

"I'm afraid that's classified, Ma'am," he responded in a crisp and cold voice. Sey'lena felt the pit tear into her twice fold – one at the change in expression and another at her new title. _Ma'am? I go from one of the most endearing titles to ma'am. Are you frickin' kidding me?_

Normally, at this point, Sey'lena would have had two options. Reapply the charm and force the information out of him, or summon her guard and take this piece of animal filth away to contemplate his place in life.

Seeing how the Major reacted in spite of being inches away from her all her revealing glory, she knew the first option was out. Sey'lena then begrudgingly admitted to a dark corner within her heart that she herself would go crazy if she dismissed him, especially without a 'proper' goodbye.

So she took option three, even though she had no idea how option three worked.

Sey'lena reached for him, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and pressed herself tightly to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his collarbone, realizing it as her new favorite place, "I shouldn't pry, not like this. Not when we're like this." Although she meant it deep down, she was still proud a few crocodile tears that fell onto his shoulder. _Orionisi don't cry after all._

The apology seemed to work, and Sey'lena beamed with pride and affection when she felt him relax and unwind. She peppered kisses along his chest and thick neck, while her little marine wrapped his own arms around her lithe back, rubbing circles with his calloused but gentle hands. She shuddered and purred with delight when he kissed the top of her head. Warmth exploded within her.

 _So this was what Navaar warned against._ Sey'lena idly thought.

His menstruations, her musings, and the increasing heavy breathing was slowly building up to repeat of last night. If she wasn't careful, Sey'lena and her Major would lose themselves once again to their attraction. Despite how much her body ached for his, she also had an empire to run.

She felt his arms slowly side down her back and grabbed an important piece of real-estate. At the same time, she saw him open a second front as his mouth moved to capture hers in a soul searing kiss.

 _On the other hand…_

She pushed herself against him once again, driving his back down to the base of the bed. She straddled him, letting the thin Tholian Silk cover fall off her body to allow Stoppable to take it all in. After letting him stare in awe and reverence, she smirked and lowered herself to his lips again while guiding his hands to where they were supposed to be.

"Perfection," she whispered again in-between deep breaths and heated exchanges, "please never let this end."

Fate always had a wicked sense of humor.

"Sey'lena!" came a shout from all around the room.

It was just enough to break through their passion induced haze and body exploration. They paused mid-stride, as if frozen, mentally praying that the sound was just a figment of their wild imaginations. After a few good seconds, just when they were about convinced, the shrill, almost whiny voice sounded again.

"Sey'lena!" the voice screeched once again. "You're needed on the bridge! Hurry up before _he_ gets here." The last part was laced with a noticeable ounce of fear.

Sey'lena felt her body tense and contort in anger and fury at the interruption. "Dhrakin," she seethed, her copper based blood boiling.

To make matters worse, she observed in sadness and regret as Stoppable once again donned his Major persona and caged the beast within himself. She knew the night and the almost morning they shared with each other was over for the foreseeable future. It just made her even more furious.

"Give me an hour to prepare. Sey'lena out," she yelled at the intercom.

She didn't give any warning. She just pushed off of him, got out of her warm bed, grabbed her 'power suit,' and marched to the antechamber within the room to shower and change. _I had it all. It was all so perfect. So right, and then Dhrakin had to go and ruin it! I'm going to kill him!_

In her rage, she didn't notice the lone tear that fell down her face at the hidden loss. _Of course it wasn't perfect. He's a frickin' goody two shoes and I'm literally his precious Federation's worst nightmare. He would never stay with me. Especially if he realized who possessed the real power._

The tear was quickly hidden by the sonic shower engulfing her body. The shower quickly purified her from all of last night's activities. Once finished, she felt as clean as ever, though inside, she still felt in turmoil. _Over a male? Come on?_ Shuffling the thoughts aside, she dried off, utilized a special evaporator for her silky hair, and dressed for her meeting.

Completing her ensemble, she checked into the mirror for any discrepancies. To an outsider, she exalted the epitome of sexuality and power. She took in her intimidating battle armor of a brasserie like chest plate and short crop pelvic guard. She had them stained in onyx black and trimmed with emerald green. To improve her appearance and add a little femininity to her attire, she had long strips of Trilaxian Silk dyed crystal green and draped and connected to each body piece.

It gave the illusion of covering, yet the silk was threaded so thin, that the coverings which draped her arms, belly, and ran down the side of her thighs did little to mask her toned muscles, lithe figure, and voluptuous chest. There was a reason she called it her 'powered suit.' No man has yet to resist its charms and aura.

"No man except my master," she growled, her fury overtaking her again. She reached over for her destroyed cuff guards, and once felt the pang of loss. "It doesn't affect him either." It seemed impossible. The two people who seemed to be immune to her species were on the furthest ends of her spectrum. She despised her master, yet she cherished her slave.

 _Mind your feelings young lady_ , the elder voice of Navaar cautioned from her memories, _they will only cause you pain and suffering. You must not let men control you. For they will only let you down and break your heart._

"Like you're no different, foremother," she retorted to the mirror. "You fell in love with the first human you met."

 _And are you any different_ , the voice responded back harshly. _Look at you, only five minutes and you're already pining for that inferior marine. You are his master, not his slave. One or the other!_

"I'm not pining for him," she replied, though doubt filled her words. "He simply pleases me. Is it wrong to seek pleasure?"

 _Not when you can't get him out of your mind,_ the powerful woman in the mirror countered. _You must accept those feelings, then shut them down in the furthest reaches of your mind, only then will you have regained your full power over him._

"But he can't be controlled," she protested, completely consumed in this lonely conversation, "he's genetically capable of resisting any of my methods or abilities."

 _Then don't control him, but control his friends and allies. Just like you planned before. Threaten them, and he will do whatever you wish_ , her subconscious responded rather logically. Sey'lena felt a smirk overtake her once again the final message sank through. _He may even free you from 'his' servitude. Then you can have your cake and eat it too._

"Right," Sey'lena sighed into the mirror, combing and setting her silky back length hair behind her ears. "I can do this."

That claim was tested when she opened the doors back into her bedroom to see Major Stoppable sitting on the bed. She quickly noticed a number of things. For one, the bed was made with military precision. Their old garments were properly disposed. And he was no longer naked but clothed in his galaxy gray camos that hugged his toned figure and strained against his chest and arms and military boots with heels lined with steel for smart presentation. As soon as he spotted her, he quickly stood up to full attention, clicking his heels with a sharp crack. _I guess he found his clothes._

"Orders, Ma'am?" The question was stated in the most neutral tone she'd ever hear, absent of either malice or warmth.

 _So now I'm Ma'am again?_ She once again felt the pang of loss, despite Navaar's warning. _Get it together. You're the master! He's the slave!_

Sey'lena toughened up her resolve, forced her feelings down, and glided over to him, letting the silk swing at the extra swaying she added in her gait. Brushing her fingers along his collarbone and the gray camo that covered the little brown spots she missed, she was disappointed and a little angry at the complete lack of a response.

It further incensed her more when he repeated his query. "Orders Ma'am?" _God, he's acting like a machine!_

Sey'lena walked around him, being sure to graze him with her thighs and hands as she did so. "Is that all I am to you, my little marine? A Ma'am? After all we shared last night."

"On the contrary. Last night will always hold a special place in my heart. Unfortunately, as much as we may wish to continue where we left off, I believe your superior is eager for you to report to the bridge, and the last thing I want is for you to become penalized for misconduct. After all, we have a deal: I will do my upmost best to protect you and all your endeavors, even at the cost of my life, so long as my comrades remain safe and unharmed."

Sey'lena felt her heart soften at the reply. _At least he didn't call me Ma'am again. He's just worried about me. How sweet of him._ Still though, she wasn't about to let him continue with the notion that the 'speaker' as he referred to it was in charge.

"That old goat isn't my superior. He's just liberal with his words," Sey'lena then sighed dramatically as she back onto him for support, wrapping her right arm around his neck to steady herself. "He does have his uses though. Thank goodness I inherited him from my mother. He's almost old enough to be my father."

His voice though calm, carried a tiny fraction of unease which pleased her greatly. "So you two haven't…?"

Sey'lena turned her cheek to his and sweetly laughed into his ear. "My lovely Rondexus, are you jealous?"

Sey'lena once again felt genuine surprise at his answer. "The idea of you with any man, even old enough to be your father, does cause a little distaste within me. But simple meditation will allow me to suppress the feeling away." _Damn. He's frank. Well, what would you expect? They train these killing machines to be honest and direct. They truly are slaves. Slaves to the system._ She actually pitied this man. That shocked her even more.

She rolled over to his other side and kissed his cheek and gave him another sincere smile. "Well don't you worry, my little soldier boy, I'm not going anywhere. You are far too good for me." _I may never take another man after you_ , she silently added, then shut the feeling down with all its implications.

He turned his head towards her and gifted her with a small simile of his own. "If that is your wish, then I am yours to command."

 _If only that were possible,_ she lamented. She knew it was temporary. Stoppable would always be loyal to his Federation, and eventually she'll lose him. _No,_ she corrected herself, _I never had him to begin with. It's simply an arrangement of convenience for both of us._

Still though, Sey'lena planned to make the best of it. Stoppable would help her consolidate her power on Omicron and help free her from her own master. And during the night, they would make the sweetest passion and love other until the theoretical sun rises. She would honor her side of the deal. It may have been the best deal she ever made.

To enunciate her new decision, she flipped herself to face him and attacked his lips again, hoping to feel the beast overwhelm the marine once again. When she felt him return her probing, she smiled into his lips and attacked with a new ferocity.

"Sey'lena, where are you?!" the voice interrupted them once again.

"I'm going to kill him," she growled, breaking contact with Stoppable.

"Would you like me to hold him down," the marine asked in dead seriousness.

Sey'lena smirked back her marine. "Stoppable, did you just make a joke?"

"You might think that. I couldn't possibly comment," he responded, and Sey'lena could've sworn she heard a drawl in his voice. She felt herself swoon at the accent.

"Sexy," she purred.

"I thought you'd like it," he nodded briefly before kissing her forehead once more, "but I think someone is waiting for you."

"Uh, don't remind me." Sey'lena then remembered something important, "Oh, I almost forgot." She ran over to her antechamber and to the hidden armory within it. She returned holding three items. She watch Stoppable raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Where did you get my weapons?"

She smirked at him, "Simple. When we beamed your entire sickbay over, it included anything that wasn't bolted down to hull. Apparently, that also included your fatigues, boots, and weapons as well."

She then hesitated before handing them over. "I want your word, that so long as you have these, you will not try to escape or use these to free your comrades in any way. Or the deal's off."

He nodded in acceptance. "So long as you agree that when I am alone, I will be plotting my freedom and that of my comrades."

Sey'lena let out a laugh. "Then I shall endeavor to never leave you alone. Deal," and with that, she handed him his dual phase pistols, and signature katana. She watched in fascination as he strapped the pistol harnesses to his legs and sheath to his right shoulder.

When he finished, she looked him over. He was very intimidating and deadly. The way his hands were relaxed, yet instinctively close to his pistols showed that he knew how to use them. Add to the fact that he seemed to face every obstacle or opponent with his opposite shoulder, Sey'lena knew that his katana wouldn't be far behind.

"Excellent," she beamed with pride. "Let's move."

Sey'lena took the lead out the room, with Stoppable close on her heels. She noticed he kept a respectable distance between her, but when she occasionally turned her head, she found him scanning every single anomaly and object in the hallways of her ship. She wasn't sure if he was looking for a threat or simply making a mental list of everything he came across. _Probably both_ , she mused.

She knew he wouldn't try to escape so long as he was with her, but that didn't mean that he didn't restrict himself to memorizing everything that could possibly help him escape later. Sey'lena knew she had to keep an eye on him.

Unfortunately, her musing and planning distracted her to what was in front of her. As such, she nearly ran into one of the Orions that were onboard the ship. She felt two rough hands manhandle her to the wall. The shock that a simple Orion brute not only had the audacity, but the ability to attack her in such an unfriendly manner, simply froze her on the spot. When she looked up at whoever was holding her against the wall, she realized why.

It was G'lilll, her Alpha Bondmate.

"I have a bone to pick with you," the huge Orion Brute snarled. Sey'lena was used to seeing such rage in his eyes. What worried her however was that normally, she had a retinue of entranced loyal Orionisi male slaves to keep at bay the one male immune to her pheromones.

Before Sey'lena could respond, G'lilll briefly looked at her marine, before back at her, "and if you don't tell the squeeb to back off, I might just accidently lose control of myself and snap your pretty neck."

Sey'lena looked over at Stoppable and saw that both his pistols were drawn and aiming directly at the head of her mate. She knew that the two resulting shots would immediately kill the bastard before he could so much as twitch, but she couldn't let that happen.

Despite how much she despised her alpha mate and how much she wanted to kill him herself, she needed the prick. He was the only one capable of providing her with an acceptable heir. It was one of the things Sey'lena hated about her people. Orionisi culture only accepted female heirs from conquered males, not enslaved ones. And there was nothing about G'lilll that led credence to a typical enslaved male.

Plus, the ship technically belonged to him. At the moment, she was just a passenger.

Because of that, she shook her head towards her marine, and breathed with relief when she saw him lower and holster his pistols. G'lilll smirked with satisfaction. "Now that's a good slave. You stay right there, and I'll deal with you in a second."

He then turned to Sey'lena, who was shaking with fury. She was furious with Stoppable for destroying her plasma cuffs. She was furious with G'lilll for being a piece of shit, but mostly, she was furious with herself for being distracted by Stoppable in the first place. _I'm too close with him, and its affecting my work._

"Now that I have your attention, I want to talk about my payment," he snorted.

"You're a male, you don't get payment. You serve me."

"Not from where I'm standing, sweet cheeks. That last raid cost us four ships and countless brave Orion males, and what did we get from it: a bunch of weak females who wouldn't last a day in the world of servitude." He then tightened his grip on Sey'lena shoulders, who managed to suppress a painful groan.

"And since they're useless, I think it's fair to say that those of us who survived should be properly compensated for the loss. Wouldn't you agree?" he added with a glint in his eye.

Sey'lena's own eyes widened at the claim. She knew what he was about to say next. "Give us the haul off. We deserve that much."

"No," she replied, trying to remain as calm as possible. "If you did you jobs right, then we wouldn't have lost so many ships, and be swimming in contraband. I told you to focus on the ship that was dead in the water, but nooo, you and your adrenaline junky friends had to have a real fight with the two escort ships. Did you not realize that the bigger ship was relaying orders towards the other two?"

Sey'lena didn't let him get a word in. "And you have the audacity to accuse me of cowardice, when you abandoned your own ship and men before it capsized. Remind me again, who's the coward?"

Sey'lena knew she was treading on ice. She may have overall authority over the Omicron Sector, but her leadership was based on the good graces of her lieutenants. Normally, all she'd have to do was seduce them, but G'lilll was different. He couldn't be seduced. He was immune, and he took great pride in flaunting that ability around wherever he went.

And the ship she was currently on was loyal to G'lilll, not her. It was simple feudalism, service to one who was in service to another. She had her loyal retinue, but most of them were caught up in the explosions aboard the other ships that didn't make it. She was alone on a potential hostile vessel with no one to protect her. No one except for Stoppable.

Which meant that she had to keep his friends safe. Or she would lose that protection.

It seemed that G'lilll reached the same conclusion. He turned back towards the marine, who Sey'lena saw was clenching his fists in righteous fury at her treatment. Sey'lena's heart fluttered a bit at his radiance of protection. _Perfection_ , she thought.

"Ahh, now I see why. You have a new favorite." G'lill looked back at Sey'lena. "He must be pretty good in the sack to have you guarantee safety for his friends. Maybe, once I kill him, you'll be more cooperating." He released her from his grip and fully turned over to the slave. "After all, a woman has to know her place, right?"

Sey'lena, watched in amazement at the exchange. G'lill was strong. Stronger than any Orion she ever met. He could literally go through an army of men and not break a sweat. His constitution was so impressive, that he could outfight and outlast any combatant. And his blood was so corrosive that just a single drop could leave acidic burns on the skin.

Which made it all the more impressive at the one-sidedness of the fight. G'lilll's disrupter was quickly shot out of his hand at before he could bring it up to fire. Immediately afterwards, Sey'lena watched proudly as Stoppable covered the space in between the two and planted his right foot straight into the knee-cap of G'lilll, snapping his leg. G'lilll roared in pain as he quickly fell to his knees. Stoppable then followed through with a spin kick right into G'lilll's face to bring him down to all fours. Dazed, he could do nothing to prevent a sharp blade from being held at his neck from behind.

The whole maneuver lasted about ten seconds.

"Make one move, and I'll slit your throat," the calm voice commanded. Sey'lena saw G'lill freeze on the spot. _He must be in the same amount of shock I was earlier_ , she realized. Capitalizing on his lapse, she quickly walked over to the defeated Orion and lowered herself to his level. She saw blood trickling out his nose and mouth and landing on the deck plating, adding a sizzling sound to the otherwise quiet hallway.

"Now you know why I keep him around. He is so much more powerful than anything you're capable of, more loyal to me than your own avaricious heart." She then smiled to the marine, who was completely focused on his prey, "and he's the sweetest, kindest man I have ever met." She then looked back at her alpha-mate. "You're not even a fraction of the man he is," she sneered.

He didn't reply. She didn't expect him to. Sey'lena rose back up and looked at Stoppable. "Release him," she commanded. She smirked at the sight of Stoppable removing his blade and slamming his foot on G'lilll's back, driving him to the deck plating. After cleaning his blade on G'lilll's garments, he sheathed his sword and looked at Sey'lena with concern lacing his eyes.

She smiled at him again in pride and longing. "Are you alight?"

He nodded. "Better than him," gesturing towards the whimpering Orion lying on the floor. He then looked back at Sey'lena. "Orders Ma'am?"

Sey'lena sighed. "I want to say kill him, but I need the prick. It is his ship." Sey'lena didn't dare mention the other, more intimate requirement. She didn't want to make the marine any more jealous than necessary. _Stop worrying about his feelings!_ she screamed at herself. _He's your slave._

She shook her head. "Let's get to the bridge. Someone else can clean this mess up."

He nodded. "By your command, Ma'am," he replied, before following her in step, paying more attention to her security instead of looking for a way to escape. Sey'lena hid a flirtatious smirk.

 _That's more like it._

A/N:

 _Well, another chapter bites the dust. Suddenly the story is not so black and white now, is it? As Star Wars Ep III pointed out: There are heroes on both sides. Evil is everywhere. Keep that in mind while you're reading this story, especially the next chapter. We already know what Starfleet is planning. But not the Syndicate._

 _I was watching House of Cards during the week, so I decided to throw in a little quote that Ronald Dean may have remembered while binge watching the series with his redheaded wife. Great way to spend the weekend huh?_

 _Don't forget to review. It means that I'm doing something right. Also, to put on record, with work continuing to pile up, I'm switching over to two week updates instead of one week. So keep an eye out for the next update. I'll see you soon._

 _KPRS Splicer signing off._


	12. ACT III Part V

_A/N: People of KP, I have returned._

 _Sorry about the long span between posts. All I can say is that I have found my muse for writing again. As it has been a while, I recommend that you start this story over._

 _Here is the fifth scene in Act III. This is the last major scene of Act III. After this, there's a mini Act III conclusion, and then on to Act IV. Again, review if you have questions. That's what it's there for._

 _I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners._

 _Many thanks to those who took the time to read and review. Especially Uberscribbler._

 _On with the Story._

 ** _Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier_**

 ** _ACT III– PART IV_**

Dr. Dhrakin, lone self-declared genius Bolian in a sea of Orionisi dunderheads, fumed at the lack of the combined IQ of the bridge at the moment.

They were currently attempting to repair the damage sustained from the recent battle with the Starfleet ships. And with a crew who barely knew the difference between a warp matrix flux capacitor and a self-sealing stem bolt, Dhrakin had a right to be pissed.

Dhrakin was not a prideful man. Okay, he was, but knew it was earned. Only Dhrakin could manage the technological marvels that haven't even been conceived by others. It was thanks to his brilliance that Clan Gogh was given more autonomy, in order to allow his own genius to blossom. After all, oppression stiffens development and ingenuity. And it was certainly thanks to his quick thinking that managed to disable that photonic torpedo before it could detonate and destroy the ship.

Yes, he was a very prideful man. He was without dispute the smartest man on this side of the quadrant, which is why it irked him that the fleet that he designed, that he perfected in the ultimate example of piracy, was handed its ass by a more or less disabled ship.

And he couldn't figure out why.

Dhrakin managed to solve a technological mystery that has plague Orionisi ships since meeting their "benefactors." For centuries, Orionisi ships could barely manage to get off a few shots of the powerful phased poloran beams before either retreating to cool down their systems or switching to their more antiquated, yet energy efficient disruptor banks.

Not to mention, with his technological savy, he was able to replicate the "benefactors" ability to mass produce the vessels in a very limited time. Once he was finished, Clan Gogh could produce ten ships while the opposing clans could barely manage one.

And yet despite all that, despite the odds of numbers, men, technology, and surprise on their side, only one ship manage to survive. After retreating, the remaining intact vessels were scuttled, crowding the only remaining one, and pumping up the testosterone concentration to levels that Dhrakin could swear was crippling his impressive intellect.

And now, the Orionisi "benefactors" were on their way over, graciously to offer assistance to their helpless citizens. He always hated meeting with them. They may not be as smart as he, but they carried a ruthlessness that made him shiver.

And unless his mistress or the Alpha made their way to bridge, Dhrakin would be the unfortunate sod to great their benevolent overlords. Neither he nor his mistress could trust the Orionisi males to be tactful or diplomatic, especially those under G'lilll. They would much rather grunt, shout, or even throw something in a misguided dick-measuring contest. Typical Orions.

Hence why Dhrakin kept calling his mistress. He would much rather take her verbal abuse and odd plasma bolt than the Alphas fist throwing, name calling stupidity, or worse, stare into those purple eyes that showed a vicious and suppressing aura behind the kind and venerable diplomat.

"What's taking her so long?" he kept mumbling to himself, but Dhrakin knew the answer. It was her new boy-toy. Just before she cut off all communication to the ship and locked herself in her quarters, she ordered him to secure the livestock to one of the more refined and decorated pens, and placed under her own loyal guard, not that of G'lilll's.

Looking them over, he didn't see anything impressive about them. They were small, injured – some of them critical – and completely terrified, far from healthy investments. They wouldn't even break even had the fleet emerged unscathed.

But after a quick count that showed one was missing and questioning the Denobulan to his or her identity of the missing livestock, the answer clicked in his mind. A soldier bound by genetic loyalty who desires to protect his crew. And not just any soldier, but a Starfleet Stellar Marine to boot.

His mistress may have found a diamond in the rough after all, and of course how better to ensure that protection than by "humanizing" his mistress with her most powerful weapons.

Dhrakin analytically knew that his mistress was a beautiful women, but Dhrakin didn't have time for matters of hormones and sex, unlike his Neanderthal (he so loved that Terran phrase) coworkers. He was a man of science, and time spent in someone else's bed meant time away from his lab concocting new and amazing pieces of technology to put Clan Gogh at the top of the Gamma Quadrant.

Dhrakin still had to prove his loyalty though and uhh… sleep… with his mistress' mother. Suffice it to say, he would never be doing that again. Aside from the time wasted during that meaningless task, he now had an annoying instinct to obey any and all commands of that woman and any of her spawn. Thankfully, Sey'lena would just yell at him and shoot him. He didn't even have to leave his lab or command station for that.

Asexual tendencies aside, Dhrakin was still pissed at her for her lack of appearance on the bridge at the moment. The vessel was almost in range, and any minute, those eyes would be on the view screen, just waiting to add to his collection of nightmares that plagued him after these meetings.

Thankfully, luck was on his side.

The first thing he noticed was the cessation of the sounds of grunting, snarling, and yelling on the bridge. Then the pheromones hit him. The normal and distracting desires to impress assaulted his mind again, but Dhrakin ruthlessly shut them down with a new idea of a mega-weather generator. How he would use it was inconsequential, but the thought process manage to distract him from the pheromones' effect on him.

Predictably though, the "help" had no such defense, and they quickly fell over themselves trying to fall into line for their mistress, though he could see the twitch of anger behind their eyes at their lack of control. Dhrakin noticed that anger was more pronounced among G'lilll's men. He'd have to look into to that.

Finally, the doors opened, and Sey'lena stepped onto the bridge, sporting her typical "power suit" as she called it and smirked at the helpless Orionisi males. Dhrakin shook his head at the child's gloating. _As if they weren't pissed off already, but to shove it in their faces._ He shivered at the implications should they ever overcome her control.

Quickly following behind his mistress was something that made Dhrakin's eyebrows shoot upward. It was the marine. And there was a clear difference about him compared to the other males.

He appeared to be completely unaffected by the pheromones that have by now, saturated the bridge. Unlike the rest of the males, his eyes weren't bloodshot, his skin wasn't perspiring, and his hands weren't shaking that clearly reflected a overdose of the pheromones, especially considering how much was being released to subvert the Orionisi males.

Evolution may not have made the males immune, but it certainly made them resistant.

 _Of course, if he's a Starfleet Marine, then he's one of those damn Augments that gave the Federation a clear strategic advantage in the Alpha Quadrant_ , he realized. He heard the stories, stories that forced the Orion Syndicate on the run, which exiled them from the Alpha Quadrant and straight to their new masters' hands. And now, centuries later, one of the direct causes was now a slave to the ones he was bred to chase out.

Dhrakin found the irony amusing.

He knew Sey'lena was clever. She may not be as brilliant as he was, but she definitely had the spark which lifted her to the top of the hierarchy. To use the thing these marines were created to protect against them, well, he had to smile at the ingenuity of his mistress.

He also smiled because now he didn't have to answer the hail that was about to be made to the ship.

"Sey'lena," Dhrakin shouted. "Thank the Madams you're here. What the hell took you so long? We're about to be hailed by… _them_ , and I really think that someone, who isn't me, should be the one to great them."

Dhrakin noticed that the marine occupied a corner of the bridge, out of prying eyes yet still giving him a clear vantage point of the entire room. _It was a good place to skulk_ , he thought. That thought wasn't really relevant to the conversation at the moment, because Sey'lena marched over to him and grabbed him by his lab coat and lifted him into the air.

"Oh really, I wasn't aware that a slave had the right to think on their own. That right was purchased by my mother and passed down to me," she snarled, anger clearly showing on her beautiful face.

Dhrakin internally sighed. He was used to being Sey'lena's verbal and sometimes physical punching bag. It was then he noticed something else, her verbal tirades weren't accompanied by the green glow of her wrist guns.

Stupidly, he ignored her comment in favor of another question, "Sey'lena, where are your disruptors. You know how much time I put into those things. Not to mention they were prototypes." Typical, he sighed, his genius was always being taken advantage of. "If you lost them, or Madame forbid, destroyed them…"

"You'll what?" Sey'lena dangerously whispered, and Dhrakin felt her grip tightening.

Thankfully, Dhrakin heard and felt the threat quite clearly this time. "Nothing! Nothing! Sorry, my mistake, Sey'lena," he quickly placated her.

"If you must know, they were…" she paused, and Dhrakin could've sworn he saw a copper tinge on her lime green cheeks, "…destroyed during the interrogation. I'll need some replacements," she added off handily.

That set him off. "Destroyed?!" Dhrakin screamed. "Do you know how much time and effort I've put into those damn things, all so you could have some secret and discrete little killing toys, and yet when you use them for the first time on an Alpha Quadrant prisoner, you break them?! And now you expect me to just throw everything I have aside build you another worthless set of those damn things?" Dhrakin couldn't believe how much his genius was being abused.

"Yes I do, after all, I own you. If I really wanted to, I could order you to destroy your little precious laboratory and never build anything again," she retorted.

Dhrakin paled. "You… you wouldn't."

"I could, and that's the point. Your very existence is to serve me. I've allowed you to conduct your experiments because they make me wealthy and powerful, but if you ever piss me off enough, I'll order its destruction," she threatened. "And I'll make you do it."

"After this issue is resolved, you will build me a new set of disruptors, and they will be superior to my old ones," she paused, "or more reliable at least. Or…" she smirked in anticipation, "I could always make my physical exchanges with you more hands on, and not in the pleasant way." To emphasize her point, she tightened her grip once more on his chest, making it harder for Dhrakin to breathe.

 _Madams, I forget that she's a lot stronger than she looks._

"That won't be necessary, Sey'lena, I get right on it. You have the new set in a week." _Depending on if I can find my notes on those things._

"You have two days." _Crap._

The Orionisi male at the communications station, who could barely speak when the enchantress was in the room, brought an end to their little conversation. "Mistress, a vessel has dropped out of warp near our position," he grunted, most likely thinking it sensual. Sey'lena naturally forced down some bile at the attempt. "They are hailing us."

 _Not a moment too soon_ , Dhrakin thought.

Sey'lena quickly dropped Dhrakin to ground unceremoniously, and straightened out her attire, and moved to the center of the bridge. Despite his feelings about his mistress, he mentally sent her strength for the inevitable confrontation.

"Viewer," she commanded, striking a pose that leave weak-minded males drooling in unadulterated lust. Strong-minded males too, except Dhrakin, of course.

The viewer changed from the purple glowing scarab ship to a face that sent shivers down Dhrakin's spine. _Here we go again._

"Ah, Madam Gogh, how delightful to see you again. I must admit I was expecting to speak with the captain of your vessel, but your appearance always brings warmth to my heart."

"Delightful to see you again, my lovely Weyoun," she purred, her false smile and posture hoping to disarm and mislead her own master. "The captain is currently indisposed at the moment, so I figured that it would be best if I addressed you at the current time."

"I see," he replied. "Well, I trust he and his crew are well? We scanned the ship upon our arrival and noticed you've sustained some heavy damage. Do you require any assistance?" The genial voice of the Vorta queried, his voice laced with concern, yet Dhrakin could see the calculating indifference behind his purple eyes, eyes that shown that any being other than his precious Founders were of no true concern to him.

And yet Dhrakin watched Sey'lena handle the Vorta with ease, as her position demanded. "As you can see, I am unharmed, and despite the damages you discovered, I believe the crew is capable enough to repair the ship so that we can make it to the Omicron system, where the shipyards can easily take care of the rest."

Dhrakin watched the Vorta's eyes spark with curiosity and interest. It seemed that the deflection wasn't taken. "I see. Well I certainly hope that whoever you came across didn't give you too much trouble. After all, as Dominion citizens, we take the security of our people very seriously. I am curious though, Omicron's logs showed that you departed with five ships. I hope their absence can't be explained with what I'm seeing. You do have a lot more men on the bridge than normal." He questioned, although his gaze didn't seem to locate the Starfleet Marine hiding in the shadows.

"I'm afraid your deduction is correct, Weyoun. My fleet encountered a mark we believed capable of acquiring. Unfortunately, we were shown the error of our ways quite thoroughly," Sey'lena lamented, though Dhrakin suspected the loss was more towards the ships rather than the crews piloting them.

"How unfortunate," the Vorta agreed, his voice filling with heavy grief that nobody believed. "I trust that the 'mark' as you called it was destroyed, or at least severely crippled. After all, your actions reflect the will of the Founders, and we can't allow our enemies to receive the wrong message about resisting us. Who knows how many lives, both enemy _and_ ally would be lost if your 'mark' had to be corrected of their supposed superiority to the Founders and the Dominion."

Dhrakin gulped. He could easily hear the threat behind those honeyed words. Those allies he mentioned wouldn't be Jem'Hadar, but the Orionisi and their slaves. And Sey'lena wondered why the purple bastard gave him nightmares.

Sey'lena, who cared not for anyone but herself and her possessions, didn't even blink at the threat. "The damage we've returned was both satisfactory and effective. The primary systems of all three ships we encountered were disabled. They were left at the mercy of the Omicron Nebula and its destructive wakes and eddies. They most likely did not survive."

Dhrakin saw the marine tense at the claim, and once again sighed at his mistress. She may have mastered dealing with her Vorta representative, but she sometimes forgot how to deal with her own slaves, trusting on her abilities and beauty to keep them in line. Her next statement clearly didn't help.

"We also managed to achieve some contraband as well, so the raid was not a total loss."

Despite that however, Dhrakin noticed that the marine's shoulders dropped back to their normal position. He must have remembered the deal she made with him, which was odd in itself. Sey'lena never made deals with males, unless they were her master. _She must really like this man._

"Well, I'm glad you were able to salvage some spoils to lessen the blow of such an embarrassing defeat you've suffered. Who knows, maybe those winnings will help salvage your reputation among the rest of the Madams on Omicron after they learned what occurred. After all, you must be vigilant. The tallest tree generates the most notice, and your fellow Madams, delightful as they all are, would pounce on any weakness they perceive."

Dhrakin gulped again and Sey'lena's smile became more forced. "I was actually hoping to keep this matter quiet, Weyoun. It is as you stated. My fellow Madams are looking for any opportunity to expand their own spheres of influence, and learning about this loss will no doubt encourage them to challenge my various claims within this sector. While they will no doubt be repulsed, bloodily I might add, the subsequent losses from all sides could cripple our financial tithe to the Dominion. We don't want any unwarranted accusations to make their way to the Founders as to the cause of that loss."

Dhrakin saw Weyoun frown at that. "My dear Madam, you overestimate your importance to the Dominion. We have hundreds of client states within our borders who are more than willing to pick up the suspected slack of your tithes, client states who live and breathe for the Dominion and won't let the loss of four ships create such a level of internal strife that would affect the stability of the sector."

"I don't think so. This isn't just any sector. The Omicron sector has the wormhole. Its many systems and planets will provide you the infrastructure and material for your planned invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. And whose credit do you think these systems will trust when it comes time to finance this invasion. It certainly won't be some client state they've never encountered before, and despite all the wealth the Dominion collects, you don't even have a fraction of the money necessary to conquer an entire Quadrant, especially if that Quadrant contains the Federation."

Sey'lena smirked as realization spread across Weyoun's face. "The business of the Orionisi people is business, in every shape and in every form. Fiscal and Monetary Policies are in our blood. We know exactly how much it's going to cost you to wage this war, and the price is currently out of your reach. Unless you had the assistance of a unified and wealthy Syndicate, which last I checked, does provide the largest and most consistent tithe to the Founders. And if you think that's large, you should see the amounts we're willing to loan to you in your quest to spread order and justice to the Alpha Quadrant."

"How much?" Weyoun asked, curious despite himself. Dhrakin was too.

Sey'lena smirked and Dhrakin realized that this was another one of her tools to subjugate and manipulate her male master. His pocketbook. "Enough to fund construction of over ten thousand Jem'Hadar Attack Fighters and supporting cruisers, breeding of over 50 million Jem'Hadar soldiers, and enough Ketracel-White to last them over five years."

Weyoun blinked at the numbers. "The Karemmans' offer was much lower than the figures you provided."

"The Karemmans don't like taking risk. And while that philosophy it is safer, it limits financial and corporate growth. As such, their financial base could not support the speculative amounts that we in turn can offer."

"However," Sey'lena added offhandedly, her dainty index finger placed on her cheek while gazing upwards in contemplation, "any instability within the sector, caused by, oh I don't know, a power struggle sparked by a few missing ships, would jeopardize that financial base, and therefore cut into the amount of credit we could lend to support your budding war."

Sey'lena then turned back to the screen. "Of course, this is all merely speculation right?" she shyly asked.

Dhrakin watched in amazement as Weyoun digested the implications and then quickly switched back to the placating and genial diplomat that disarms all dignitaries within and outside the Dominion. "But of course, my dear. Purely speculation. After all, like I said, the Dominion treats all of its citizens with the respect and support that it deserves. If you feel that its in the best interest of the Dominion to keep this staggering loss of lives quiet, than we, the lowly servants of the Founders will do our absolute best to assist you in your endeavors."

Sey'lena smiled in victory. "I'm glad we could agree on the proper course of action."

"As am I. As am I. Now, if you'll just shut down your engines and prepare docking procedures, I will send over my repair teams and we will guarantee that your ship is capable of making its return journey back to Omicron."

Once again, Sey'lena's smile became more forced. "While I thank you for the offer, Weyoun, I promise you that the damage we've sustained will not jeopardize our return to Omicron. It is really not necessary."

Dhrakin saw Weyoun's smile become more of a smirk, and he felt a shiver rush through him. "On the contrary my dear, I find it very necessary. Despite your reassurances, I intend for there to be no mistakes in making your return as smooth as possible. After all, it's not everyday we have a chance to inspect the damage involving a Federation Starship."

Sey'lena eyes widened, the marine in corner stiffened, and Dhrakin's mouth actually dropped open. "Oh don't look so surprised my dear. I knew the moment we scanned your ship. Federation phaser fire and photonic torpedoes radiation carry a distinct signature."

His face hardened. "I think it's extremely important we have a face-to-face discussion, because I distinctly remember the Founders decree that all Alpha Quadrant Military Vessels were to remain off limit for the time being, and I'm very interested in hearing your reasons for disobeying them. Money or not, if you can't be trusted to obey the will of the Founders, than you become a liability, and we simply can't have that."

A Jem'Hadar appeared on the viewer and whispered something in the Vorta's ear. After nodding his understanding to the Jem'Hadar, he turned his gaze back to Sey'lena. "And I am most interested to meet that Starfleet Marine you have stowed away in your corner."

Weyoun shook his head at the Orion. "Honestly, my dear, your attempt at hiding your involvement with the Federation is rather poor. You always did forget that while my fellow Vorta do have poor eyesight, the Jem'Hadar have excellent vision and were more than capable of making out your new friend. It must be a trademark of your culture, to ignore the abilities of your servants."

Ignoring the looks of shock or consternation throughout the Orionisi bridge, Weyoun gave the final order. "Cut off your engines and prepare to be boarded, or I'll have no choice but to open fire. You have thirty seconds to comply."

And with that he signed off.

"Mistress, the Vorta's ships are powering up weapons." The Orionisi brute at the weapons station grunted.

Throwing off the shock of the conversation and its abrupt end, Dhrakin rushed over to the station, shoved the dazed brute out of the way and took in their status. "Sey'lena, we're in no condition to fight anything now. Unless you want to get us all killed, do what he says."

Sey'lena surprised Dhrakin again by quickly gazing at the marine who took a comfortable position at her side. He was even more surprised by the smallest of nods he gave her. Sey'lena then looked over to the Bolian slave. "Cut power to engines, and prepare for docking."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he did so as quickly as possible. Looking over at sensors, and mentally cheered. "They're powering down their weapons and are moving into position."

Sey'lena nodded and made for the exit, the marine close behind her. She then turned around toward Dhrakin. "Well, what are you waiting for, get off your ass and fall in line. We need to greet them at the airlock."

Dhrakin paled and gulped. "Uh, but, but, but, mistress, what about your disruptors. Didn't you say you wanted them as quickly as possible? I think my time would be better spent working on that, wouldn't you?" he pleaded. No way did he want to meet with the Dominion complement.

Sey'lena sighed at his impudence. "I already told you, Dhrakin. You'll work on it after this situation is resolved, not before. Now come on, that Vorta bastard is looking for someone to blame, and I need my scapegoat ready to be offered.

The Bolian paled even further. "You…You…don't… you don't mean me do you?"

Sey'lena sighed again. "Yes you. You, G'lilll, anyone I can pawn off to the Vorta, but don't worry, if they want someone killed as recompense, I'll just give them my Alpha-mate. He's useless anyway."

"Oh sure, say that in front of his men, that'll ender them to you," Dhrakin muttered as he fell in behind.

She rolled her eyes. "They're all ODing on my scent. They can barely stand, let alone think. You overestimate their brain power. They're men after all."

"You know that Vorta is a male, and he schooled your ass in front of everyone," he quipped.

"Watch it," she warned.

"I'm just saying, Sey'lena. You need to be mindful of how you present yourselves to the help. Eventually, you'll come across one that'll prove too strong even for you. Like this buffoon you seem to favor."

"What I do with my little marine is none of your concern Dhrakin," she snarked back, slowing down to quickly wrap her arms around her toy and give him a quick kiss to the cheek. The marine remained as stoic as ever, to Dhrakin's amazement.

"Do you honestly think they'll let you keep him? They're going to want to dissect him and figure out what makes him tick. Currently, we are in no position to refuse them."

"Watch me," she sniped back, and then spontaneously jumped into the marine's arms. The marine, with impressive strength and reflexes, quickly adjusted her into the picturesque bridal-style carry without a single misstep occurring.

"What are you made of marine?" he breathed in wonder to himself.

"That's classified Bolian," the marine replied in a low baritone voice, seemingly ignoring the Orionisi goddess nuzzling into his collarbone, drinking in his scent.

That actually caused Dhrakin to misstep. Sey'lena giggled again, though this time, it seemed a lot more genuine and carefree than malicious and subverting. "Augment superior hearing. He could probably hear the conversations on the other end of the ship, through closed doors even." She then turned her emerald eyes straight at Dhrakin. "Didn't I mention that?"

Dhrakin rolled his eyes in annoyance. "No, you didn't. Well, if he has more than just the Augment brute strength and dexterity, then he might just be more than the buffoon I made him out to be."

He sighed in exasperation again as Sey'lena went back to the marine's collarbone, except this time, she started peppering feather light kisses to his skin and was slowly making her way to his neck and face. The damn marine wasn't even blushing. Dhrakin was wondering if he was a goddamn robot.

"If you could separate yourselves for one moment _before_ you give our guests a free showing, would you mind clarifying how you're going to keep your little toy away from the Vorta? Weyoun is not one to take no for an answer."

"Nope," she quirked back, although she did stop feather-kissing him, instead preferring to tighten her arms around the marine and laying her head against his chest and sighing contently. Dhrakin had never seen her so relaxed and unguarded before.

It was starting to worry him, especially if her plan didn't work and they did take the marine away. Or get all of them killed in the process. He wasn't ready to die just yet.

The conversation died down after that. For the next minute or so, they proceeded to the airlock in the same manner. Dhrakin was sulking about his life, the marine was walking without a care in the world, and his mistress was still in his arms seemingly asleep or just breathing in his scent.

It was an odd moment.

Eventually they met up with G'lilll, who was barely walking and had to be supported by two of his grunts. Before the Alpha-male could make a scathing remark about his mistress' current position, his supporters dropped him all of a sudden as their eyes went vacant and expressions became hungry.

Apparently, a content Orionisi female released even more pheromones than normal, and it proved too much for the help. Dhrakin didn't even notice due to his own dark musings, and he figured the marine was just as immune as the Alpha-male.

Still, it didn't stop G'lilll from letting loose a massive broadside of Orionisi expletives and profanities that briefly manage to bring his two grunts out their daze, before they eventually succumbed to it again.

Dhrakin watched the train wreck unfold. Sey'lena raised her lips to the marine's ear and whispered something that he couldn't hear over G'lill's screaming. She then tightened her hold around his neck while her toy adjusted his hold of her to one hand while drawing his pistol with the other.

Dhrakin could only watch as the marine shot the poor bastard in the leg, most likely crippling G'lilll for the rest of his life. Dhrakin braced himself for another set of profanity from the damn brute.

He was not disappointed.

Sey'lena then adjusted her gaze to the two pieces of meat still standing with those stupid vacant expressions on their faces. "If you don't get him to shut up, my friend here," patting said friend on the chest, "is going to put the next phase bolt in his chest."

They still stood there staring.

"What are you waiting for?!" she snapped. "Silence him."

Lethargically, they crouched down and placed their meaty hands over the G'lill's mouth, trying to stop the screaming.

Sey'lena, still in the one hand hold gazed down imperiously to the slowly chocking Orion. "I suggest you use that miniscule brain and be silent for once in your life; otherwise, your two friends will inadvertently do it for you. Permanently."

Dhrakin was able to confirm that the immune Orion did have a brain, as his screams and exclamations died down to pathetic whimpering from a man with a shattered kneecap, a concussion, bruised spine, cauterized wound, and a damaged-beyond-repair ego.

Sey'lena then gave the order for his release from the two brutes. He spoke as soon as he could. "You're going to pay for that, woman, and I'm going to take my sweet time with it to. You have no idea just how dangerous this ship became for not only you, but your little marine too. As soon as I'm capable, his little crew mates are going to straight to the men for their pleasure, and maybe I'll let them have you too. After all, I've heard the Vorta's not too impressed with you right now."

"I warned you about keeping your meetings with the Vorta private," Dhrakin added.

"Shut up, Dhrakin," she snapped back at him, before jumping off the marine and facing to the Alpha lying on the ground. The marine took one step behind her, one pulse phased pistol still trained on her target, the other covering his buddies.

"The only thing Weyoun is upset about is that we attacked a ship that was currently off limits, but he doesn't know exactly who ordered the attack. As far as Weyoun is concerned, I just run the administrative side of the clan. And as this ship and those four others fly your banner, well, it won't take a warp scientist to realize that I was just along for the ride when you arrogantly decided to challenge the Founders authority in a misguided attempt of superiority."

Dhrakin smirked and G'lilll's lime green complexion became whiter. "You don't actually believe that will hold up to scrutiny do you? All of the Orionisi males, even those under your own personal guard will back me up."

Dhrakin stepped forward. "Not if she maintains her current pheromone output to neutralize all the naysayers while the Vorta is aboard, especially as I am currently pumping it through the entire ship, meaning no one will have the brain capacity to contradict her claims."

"But, I'm immune, and they'll listen to me," he protested.

Sey'lena replied with a vicious smirk. "Do you actually think that they'll believe anything that comes out of your mouth? After all, it's clearly obvious that after my meeting with Weyoun over the viewer, you, as the owner and commander of the fleet, got wind of the Vorta's wrath and tried to escape, attempting to kidnapping me in the process in case you needed a bargaining chip.

Her smirk became vindictive. "After all, you are immune to my charm, and how could little old me hope to resist a beast of your size without my only defense against the male gender."

The plausibility of the explanation was so believable that G'lilll lost all strength and sank back to the ground.

Sey'lena then went behind the marine and wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to him and looking over his shoulder. "And when I explain to him that it was my big strong friend here that saved me from such an embarrassing fate, well they'll think twice before attempting to take him away from me. Especially as only I can guarantee that the Syndicate will provide the Dominion the credit necessary for subjugating the Alpha Quadrant."

"So you see," she cheerfully concluded. "It works out best for everyone. Weyoun gets his money. The Founders get their renegade, I get to keep my marine, and the Major gets to keep his friends alive and comfortable. Hell, even the Jem'Hadar are going to get quite a showing and testing of strength. Everyone wins."

"What about G'lilll?" Dhrakin quipped, amused at how Sey'lena managed to warp this clusterfuck to her advantage.

"He's a slave, he doesn't count," she waved dismissively.

It seemed that G'lilll still didn't understand. "But, but I'm your alpha-male. You need me to carry on your family name, to continue on your legacy."

"Pfff," Sey'lena scoffed, "as if you're the only alpha-male in the entire Syndicate. You're not that special. Besides," she glanced meaningfully to the marine, "I'm not looking for that kind of relationship right now."

Okay, now Dhrakin was worried about Sey'lena. _She's never done that before._

Sey'lena then glared balefully at the piece of vermin on the ground. "You know, I originally was planning to keep you out of this. Despite my hatred of you, despite losing all of your power and influence with those five ships, I was prepared to protect you as Orionisi tradition demanded.

"But that protection is supposed to go both ways. As you are immune, you were supposed to be my support, my rock to ground me, my bastion of trust when I once again had to use my body to subjugate more males to my rule.

"But you didn't. You took advantage of your gift. You took me repeatedly, whenever you pleased, then threw me out the door when finished, only mumbling in an off-handed way about offering your vassalage to me, as if I should be pleased you were even considering offering me my legacy.

"But still I allowed you do so, because tradition demanded that I seek a legacy."

Dhrakin frowned in pity for his mistress. For all her prestige and power, she wasn't only slave to the Dominion, but to her own culture as well. No one should have to suffer that kind of torture.

"And then I met this remarkable man," she tightened her arms around the marine, closing her eyes in content for a moment, "who showed me how an immune male was supposed to act towards his mistress, and I realized what you were doing was wrong."

She then stepped in front of the marine and kneeled to the collapsed Orion. "So when you threaten him or his crew, you threaten me, and just like the Vorta, I take those threats seriously. Your last few moments will be the most miserable time of your pathetic life, and I will take great pleasure in knowing that it was your own doing that guaranteed your fall."

Dhrakin observed with bated breath as Sey'lena raised her hand, and the marine took aim. "Goodbye G'lilll, I hope you rot in the eternal fires with the rest of your family."

She dropped her hand. The marine fired center mark. The body slumped to the ground.

A pause.

Dhrakin noticed it first. "I thought you were going to kill him?"

In response, Sey'lena rolled her eyes at his shortsightedness, and then turned back to the marine, eyebrow raised for the explanation.

Holstering his pistol, he gazed back at the Bolian. "Killing him adds doubt to her story," he responded. "It gives the impression she is hiding something. The Cardassians make the same mistake. Extract the confession, then execute the criminal after the interrogation, and cover it up as suicide. The Federation magistrates would never accept such a confession."

Sey'lena picked up where he left off. "So after we explain what happened, we give the bastard over, and they'll interrogate him to the point of insanity, all the while believing that G'lilll would never follow my will if he was immune."

"A fate worse than death," the marine concluded.

"Doesn't sound like something the Federation would agree with," stated Dhrakin.

"How the Federation Department of Justice operates is no concern of mine. I simply defend and protect the Federation as a whole. And my current charge," he added in afterthought.

"So why are you helping us then? A fragmented Syndicate would be better for the Federation," Dhrakin queried, his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The marine didn't bat an eye. "My agreement with Madam Gogh," Dhrakin noticed that Sey'lena flinched at the title, but was too focused on the marine for the moment. "Also, it doesn't matter if you marshal the entire body of this Dominion. The Federation and her protectorates are more than capable of handling anything they throw at us. And if not, then they will simply collapse the wormhole. I know it's possible."

Sey'lena pouted. "Would you really collapse the wormhole and abandon me just like that?"

"That is assuming if I manage to escape, and so far, that is and currently remains impossible to achieve."

"Yayy!" she cheered jumping right back into his arms, once again assuming her bridal style hold. Dhrakin rolled his eyes as she sealed the deal with a big peck to his lips. "You're not getting away from me that easily, my little marine."

"If that is what you wish…Sey'lena." Dhrakin saw her shudder as he spoke her name. He really needed to talk to her about this behavior later.

The ship shook as the docking clamps were secured.

But for now…

"Sey'lena, I think it's time to go. Our," he swallowed, "guests are waiting."

Sey'lena sighed in annoyance. "Oh for Madams sake Dhrakin, grow a spine. Still, it is time to go. You two!" she snapped at the brutes who just continued to stand there like statutes, "drag your boss with us. It's time to take out the trash."

The journey to the airlock took little time. Sey'lena reluctantly tore herself from the marine's arms and established herself to centerfold position. The marine once again retreated to a corner in the area, out of sight, but still seeing everything. Dhrakin took the other corner hoping against all hope that no one would notice him. And the two dunderheads dragged their broken leader on the ground, but to the side of the airlock.

It wouldn't do anyone any good to have the Vorta trip over his new prisoner.

A few hisses and mechanical sounds, and the Dominion contingent entered the ship.

Dhrakin knew that protocol called for two Jem'Hadar to enter any unsecured area first. He just didn't expect them to immediately train their poloron rifles straight to one of the corners of the room.

Thankfully it wasn't his corner.

"You! Federation! Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!" the one on the left commanded.

"You will not be asked again!" the right one added, his voice low and forceful.

Dhrakin cursed his current luck. It seemed putting two types of super soldiers in the same room on different sides was not one of his mistress's bright ideas. Somehow in between the two commands, the marine pulled his two pistols once again, and both were trained on the heads of both soldiers.

Thankfully before a mini-war broke out in which Dhrakin would most likely be a casualty, resolution came from an unlikely source.

"Omet'Iklan! Control your men! These people, including that Federation fellow, are our hosts," a familiar voice behind the two Jem'Hadar commanded, currently absent of friendliness and camaraderie.

"His two weapons are trained in our vicinity. You should let us kill him and be done with it," the quiet voiced Jem'Hadar dubbed Omet'Iklan replied with no trace of respect.

Weyoun, stepping around the two grey reptile-like soldiers, replied in a similar tone. "You will do nothing without my approval. Now lower your weapons." The complied, albeit reluctantly.

Weyoun then turned to Sey'lena, and with a more conciliating tone addressed her. "My apologies, Madam. I'm afraid the Jem'Hadar are sadly deficient in the social graces."

Dhrakin watched Sey'lena nod in reply and understanding. She then turned over to the marine and gave him a similar nod. He too lowered and holstered his weapons.

With the tense atmosphere dissipating, Weyoun continued to give Dhrakin's mistress his full attention, clapping his hands together. "Well Madam, a shaky introduction if ever there was one, but still, I am glad we were able to resolve this simple misunderstanding before it turned violent.

"Also, I'd like to thank you again for allowing us to board your vessel," he added.

"Well," Sey'lena replied with a faux-smile, "it's not like we had a choice, Weyoun. After all, we all serve the Founders, and as you carry their voice, I could hardly refuse you entrance, now could I?"

"Indeed, I never doubted your loyalty, my dear," Weyoun bowed humbly. "Though I am curious as to why there is currently an Orion lying unconscious on your deck plating," he noted, nodding to said figure.

 _This is it_ , Dhrakin thought. _Madams, please let this work._

"Oh him?" Sey'lena nodded off-handily. "He's the reason why you're over here in the first place. G'lilll my _former_ Alpha, decided in his infinite wisdom to attack that Starfleet vessel and take some prisoners for rehabilitation and profit."

"Really?" Weyoun replied, hands behind his back, eyebrow raised. "Because on the viewer earlier, I was under the impression that it was _your_ idea to attack the vessel. This is your ship after all, isn't it?"

Sey'lena sighed in sympathy." I can see how you'd think that way. Unfortunately, the situation here, especially given this Orion," she again nodded over the prone form, "carries a different form of our culture that takes outsiders some time to understand."

"But," she added, "since you're already here, if you and your retinue would care to follow me our dining hall, I can not only explain everything to you, but provide you with some rest, good food, and suitable entertainment. How about it?" she asked with a charming and disabling smile.

"We are Jem'Hadar. We do not require sustenance, rest, nor entertainment," the Jem'Hadar standing next to Omet'Iklan retorted arrogantly, glaring disdainfully at the rest of the gathering.

"No, but your next supply of white is within the next hour," Weyoun snapped at his soldiers, "and if you want it on time, then you will be quiet and do as I say."

He addressed Sey'lena again, "I see no reason to deny such a generous offer. I was planning on taking care of this," gesturing to the crate in another Vorta's hands, "sometime after our meeting, but if we're going to be provided a meal, in the spirit of our continual cooperation, I feel it best for all of us to partake in this delightful ceremony."

"And," Sey'lena smoothly interjected, "I may have a way to provide some meaningful entertainment for the Jem'Hadar as well, that is," she leaned over and loudly whispered "if your First would like to test his men's strength against a Starfleet Marine."

Despite the supposed discipline of the Jem'Hadar, Dhrakin noticed excited whispers break out amongst Omet'Iklan's partner.

"Ah, a proving match? My, my, my dear Sey'lena, you do know how to give the pride of the Dominion a good time, don't you? Well," Weyoun asked Omet'Iklan, "what say you First?"

Omet'Iklan stepped forward, inspecting the marine in detailed scrutiny. Dhrakin idly noticed that on his grey uniform was a patch on his left breast with the Letters "H.E." in Domionese imprinted on them, though he had no idea what they meant.

The marine in question didn't even waver in the slightest.

"I've heard tales of the prowess and discipline of the Starfleet Marines. They are said to rival the strength of the Klingons. I look forward to challenging that claim for myself." He then turned toward the man who made that previous outburst. "Second Toman'Torax. Send for the Third through Tenth. I want them all here to learn and examine the power of an Alpha Augment."

"Yes First," he replied before moving back to the ship.

"Oh, I almost forgot" Weyoun interjected before the Second left, "take our unconscious Orionisi friend with you to a holding cell. We can question him later after our departure."

Toman'Torax nodded, before hoisting the massive Orion over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing and carried him back to the ship. Dhrakin surreptitiously looked over at the marine. He recognized mild shock at the casual display of strength, but quickly shook it off.

 _I wonder if you realize what you have gotten yourself into marine_ , he silently wondered.

A couple minutes passed before the Second returned in the company of eight other Jem'Hadar soldiers.

"Oh good," drawled Weyoun, obviously bored with the uptightness of the Jem'Hadar, "now that we're all here, perhaps we can get a move on?" Giving Sey'lena a placating smile, he apologized for the delay. "Like I said, the Jem'Hadar were not bred for conversation or propriety."

"The Gods did not create us for conversation or propriety. They created us for battle and defense. When your words and your promises inevitably fail, we are sent to clean up your messes and resolve the issues," Omet'Iklan retorted in his calm, cold voice.

Weyoun sighed again, and Dhrakin thought that was a long continued debate not only between Weyoun and his First, but between all Vorta and Jem'Hadar.

"Your solution would involve lining up the perpetrators against a wall and shooting them," Weyoun muttered, but before Omet'Iklan could respond, he gestured to Sey'lena, "but that's neither here nor now. After you my dear."

"Of course," she replied, hiding a smirk at the clear disdain between the two species.

Sey'lena, after dismissing the two Orionisi males, led the way to her personal dining chamber with the marine right behind her. The ten Jem'Hadar and the two Vorta were next, leaving poor Dhrakin at the very end, out of sight and out of mind.

Just the way he liked it.

Entering the room, they were all greeted to a circular room with colors and fragrances laced through the air. Cushions and flowers circled within another ring of columns and vines, giving the room a soothing and relaxing atmosphere. Looking up, they all took in the holographic projection of outer space. Soothing background music disarmed all the guests.

Except the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta of course.

"Please take a seat anywhere you like. This is my home, and I wouldn't be a good hostess without providing my guests the best that I can."

Weyoun and his Vorta companion, who had remained silent for the time being, each took a cushion to the right of Seylena, while Dhrakin took the other side, thinking that keeping his mistress between him and the Vorta was one of his best laid plans.

The marine of course, took a standing position behind Sey'lena, while the ten Jem'Hadar stood on the opposite perimeter of the center of the lower circular platform that Sey'lena used to 'entertain' and 'mesmerize' her male 'guests' at the request of the Alpha in command of the ship.

This time, however, Sey'lena instructed the attending Orionisi males to convert the platform into a proving arena. Without the Alpha to protect his men and with Sey'lena's allure being pumped throughout the ship, the Orions took her word as law.

While the arena was being assembled and exotic and appetizing food was brought forth and consumed, Sey'lena began regaling her tale about how G'lilll wanted to challenge and attack the Federation vessel for contraband, despite Sey'lena's orders to the contrary, and afterwards how he attempted to take her hostage to escape punishment from the Vorta.

"My dear," Weyoun gushed in sympathy, "I had no idea the leadership aboard your vessel was in such a fragile state. Surely, you must know that the Dominion takes every precaution for the safety of the leaders of each member-state. If you simply needed help, we would have gladly placed a contingent of Jem'Hadar soldiers to protect your interests and guarantee your rule."

 _Not to mention, safeguard your own_ , Dhrakin added darkly.

Sey'lena though dodged the feint quite gracefully, "I understand, and would this be a regular occurrence, I'd accept, gladly in fact. But again, this is a rare opportunity where one such as G'lilll would take advantage of his gifts for his own self interest, rather than the betterment of the Dominion. They aren't that smart or capable after all."

To emphasize the point, the two Orionisi males assembling the ring knocked each other over whilst placing the cylindrical post-gongs on the opposite sides of the circle. Dhrakin smothered a snort at the obvious signs of pheromone overdose.

"I see," Weyoun observed. "Still though, it truly was fortunate that you were able to turn the tables on your Orionisi friend and take him captive instead, especially considering that this is his own ship."

"And for that, you have to thank this good marine officer I manage to scrounge up from G'lilll's raid. Without his help, G'lilll would have mostly likely escaped and you would've had to deal with hunting him down for the foreseeable future. I suspect that would interfere with some of your plans?"

Weyoun nodded absentmindedly, and then chuckled good-heartedly. "Ha-haa. You are as subtle as ever, my dear. Attempting to deflect intrigue with your own, you do your species credit. You almost had me."

Sey'lena smiled in return. "Well if you're planning something in this sector, don't you think I should know about it? After all, how can we assist the Founders if we are unaware of what is occurring?"

Weyoun returned the smile. "Oh don't worry my dear, you'll find out soon enough. Besides, I thought we were discussing your marine fellow. He is a security risk after all. We can't allow him to return to the Federation until we're ready to make our appearance."

His purple eyes lit up. "I have a splendid idea. Why don't you turn him over to us, and in return I'll provide you with Omet'Iklan and his men to ensure your safety? That way we all walk away with what we wanted."

Observing Sey'lena's smile become as forced and as pained as he had ever seen it before was of deep concern to Dhrakin. _She's becoming more and more enamored with the marine as the hour goes by. Just accept the offer, and we get our lives back!_ He mentally shouted.

"That would not be in the best interest of any of us, Weyoun," she responded, a bit of venom hidden in her words.

"And how did you come to that conclusion," Weyoun asked in confusion.

"Isn't it obvious Weyoun? If I show up back to the Madams Chambers surrounded by a block of your Jem'Hadar, I'd lose all credibility with the other Madams. My ability to control would be called into question. They would believe that I had become nothing more than a slave to the Dominion, rather than leader of the leading and noble Clan.

"It's a matter of perspective Weyoun. Indirectly, we all contribute to the Dominion, but we don't like showcasing it. It's simply a matter of pride for us. And having a column of Jem'Hadar soldiers walking into the Madams Chambers really shoves it into their faces."

"And then the Clans would fall into disarray…" Weyoun concluded.

"Exactly. And if you truly want the credit we're offering, then the Clans of the Syndicate cannot be fighting amongst ourselves. It's bad for business."

"But what about the marine? He's still a security risk."

"He's my slave. He'll do whatever I want him to do. Unlike you Vorta or Jem'Hadar, this marine can and has fallen to my influence. He is mine to command as I see fit, and if I order him keep your secrets, then he will. And that is something my fellow Madams will accept."

"But is he capable?" Weyoun asked, voicing Dhrakin's own thoughts.

"That's what we're here for. To test his strength." Sey'lena then achieved her own epiphany. "How about this? If my marine can defeat all ten of your Jem'Hadar soldiers in one sitting, then his strength is proven, and I keep him. Otherwise, he's yours to do with as you please, and I'll take the risk of your soldiers."

Dhrakin watched Weyoun's eyes calculate the various odds and possibilities of such an offer, weighing all the pros and cons of each result. To Dhrakin, it seemed like an eternity.

In the end though, he nodded in acceptance. "But first, I still have one last duty to address." Turning to his Vorta companion, he gestured for the box. "Its time."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Omet'Iklan stepped forward with Toman'Torax right behind him. Both seemed eager for what was contained within.

Crate in hand, Weyoun casually asked for ten vials. After accepting the voice-print, the crate opened, and Weyoun carefully extracted ten tubes containing a white fluid that Dhrakin knew as Ketracel White, the drug that kept the Jem'Hadar alive and sane.

Despite the supposed seriousness of the ritual, Weyoun acted as if he was completely bored with the whole procedure and didn't even make eye contact with the soldier. "First Omet'Iklan, can you vouch for the loyalty of your men?"

Standing at complete attention, the First responded with a complete sense of professionalism and loyalty to these mystical Gods. "We pledge our loyalty to the Founders, from now until death."

Weyoun wasn't impressed however, but continued on regardless. "Then receive this reward from the Founders, may it keep you strong." The adjacent Vorta then passed the vials to the First and Second, who in turned distributed the vials to the remainder of the Jem'Hadar in the room.

As soon as the last vial was distributed, the Jem'Hadar each placed the vial within their uniform jacket and secured it to the tube that slowly distributed the drug. Each soldier let out a sigh of relief as the drug began to course through their bodies.

Weyoun then clapped his hands together in excitement. "Now that that's out of the way, time for the entertainment."

In response, Sey'lena then gestured for the marine to kneel beside her. She quickly whispered something into his ear, most likely reassurances, and then subtlety placed a chaste kiss against his cheek. Thankfully Weyoun didn't notice.

Dhrakin watched as the marine and the Tenth striped themselves of their weapons and stepped into the arena. Each assumed a fighting stance.

Sey'lena quickly explained the fight. "The rules are quite simple. You fight until you are incapable. If you are knocked down, you must tap one of the two posts if you wish to continue, otherwise you forfeit. Do you understand?"

Both nodded, but kept their eyes on the other.

"Very well. Begin!"

And so it did.

The two began to circle the other, sending out test jabs, probes, and feints. Those alone looked painful in of themselves for a regular soldier, but the two super soldiers quickly shook them off.

Either believing himself the superior or tired of waiting for an attack, the Tenth rushed into the marine's area of control, launched a fury of attacks and finishing with a wild haymaker.

They all connected, and the Jem'Hadar drew first blood.

Dhrakin winced at the brutality of the maneuver as the marine quickly jumped back up, tapping the post as he did do. It gonged in response. Dhrakin didn't have to look over as Sey'lena winced in sympathy.

They circled again.

Feeling bold, the Tenth tried again. Fury of jabs, then a finisher.

It connected again.

The marine was on the floor, spitting out blood.

The gong struck again.

Now sporting a malevolent grin on his face, the Tenth, almost with a swagger, stepped forward to attack again, already certain of success.

He was.

"If this is the best the Alpha Quadrant has to offer, than I may not need your assistance after all," Weyoun quipped. "We also may as well as forgo the demonstration and transfer my men over to save time."

Dhrakin risked a glance at Sey'lena, but was shocked at the knowing smirk on her green lips. "Don't dismiss him just yet, my lovely Weyoun."

The gong stuck again.

Now actively on the balls of his feet and certain of victory, the Tenth struck again, unintentionally using the first combination of the duel.

The consequence was severe.

Dhrakin watched in awe as each lighting strike was intercepted with flowing grace. Then, as the wild haymaker flew, Dhrakin held in a groan as the marine maneuvered himself behind to catch the arm, brutally dislocate it out of socket, then snapping the joint at the elbow.

To his credit, the Tenth only whimpered, and then only barely. The pain was still severe and distracting enough for the marine to finish him by exerting the signature Vulcan nerve pinch on the hide of the of the Jem'Hadar shoulder.

He collapsed to the ground.

The gong remained silent.

As was the rest of the audience.

"Amazing," Weyoun breathed. "I never thought I'd encountered a strong enough being to stimulate enough nerves to cause a Jem'Hadar to pass into unconsciousness."

"I warned you, Weyoun. He is a man of many talents," Sey'lena quipped back, a proud smile on her face.

The marine continued to stand tall, waiting for his next opponent to enter the fray.

The Ninth obliged.

It was even shorter than the previous.

Dhrakin was surprised at that, but he quickly realized the reason. The Jem'Hadar, though seemingly as strong as the marine, weren't utilizing any form of technique aside from some quick jabs and a finisher.

Against a normal being, that would have been acceptable. Those jabs could likely bend durasteel, yet against an Augment, who could take the punishment, it proved to be their undoing. Dhrakin figured that the marine had just seen every combination the Jem'Hadar were capable of performing, and had developed the perfect counter measures for each of them.

The unconscious and battered bodies of the Eight through Third seem to prove that hypothesis, although despite that, the marine did appear to be tiring and battered himself.

Another trait about the Jem'Hadar that Dhrakin noticed was their strength. They all appeared to be completely equal in strength, almost as if after the three day maturation of the bodies, they simply stop growing; only maintaining.

 _I guess that's what happens when you create a soldier that does not require substance or sleep. No room for future development._ Dhrakin surmised. This really was a brilliant biological and genetic study for the good Bolian.

"Looks like you may need my help after all Weyoun. If this reflects the capability of all the Federation Marines, then you're gonna need a whole lot more Jem'Hadar then you have at the moment."

"You may be right, my dear." Weyoun muttered, then breathed a sigh of his own. "Fortunately for us, the Federation hasn't yet perfected their Augmenting Process, only yielding about two hundred marines each year out of a two hundred billion population. It's a very demanding and grueling process, or so I'm told."

Curiosity outweighing his fear, Dhrakin opened his mouth before he could help himself. "And how could you possibly know the interworkings of the Federation and its Marine Corps."

Sey'lena turned and glared at him to shut his big mouth, but Weyoun eyed him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "The Founders know all, of course. They know the interworkings of the entire Alpha Quadrant, the political instability it's wracked with, and the abilities of its militaries, public and hidden."

Dhrakin couldn't help himself. "But how could they possibly know every detail of the Alpha Quadrant, when no member of the Dominion has passed through the wormhole?"

"They are Gods, of course," Weyoun replied as if that it explained all. "If they so choose, they could walk amongst us without us even knowing it, acquiring all the information they need to help bring the desperately necessary Order to a chaotic galaxy."

Dhrakin wasn't so sure about that. The Syndicate, despite being subservient to the Dominion, was still the prime example of gathering intelligence. After all, criminals are everywhere, even in Weyoun's perfect Dominion. And all criminals talk to the Syndicate.

And according to Sey'lena, not one has seen nor heard neither hide nor hair of these so called Founders. And if the Syndicate isn't aware of it, then it simple doesn't exist. Such is the nature of the criminal underworld.

Still, Dhrakin was smart enough not to mention that to the Vorta who seemed to have continuous hard-on whenever he speaks about his so called Gods.

Plus Sey'lena looked ready to rip him in half for speaking.

And that scared Dhrakin a whole lot more.

Turning back to the fight, the First was dragging his Second out of the arena, which was now covered in blood and sweat from the competitors. As for Toman'Torax, despite having both of his shoulders dislocated, both knees blown out, and a very sore collarbone, he had the biggest grin on his face.

It seemed the marine's nerve pinch wasn't as effective on the Second as it was on the others.

"Much better than a Klingon, indeed. I look forward to killing you and your brothers on the battlefield. Its been so long since I've been given good sport," Toman'Torax choked out before giving way to the sweet arms of unconsciousness.

His opponent wasn't in much better shape. It seemed Toman'Torax was a cut above the rest of the squad. The marine was barely standing on his own two feet. He was leaning to one side, favoring his left over his right. He had his right arm draped protectively over his ribs. His face was bruised and swollen, with hinting of black eyes in the future.

 _All in all, he looks like shit_ , was Dhrakin's medical diagnosis.

Still, he took his ready position when Omet'Iklan stepped into the arena, yet before Sey'lena gave the single to begin, the Jem'Hadar spoke. "You have demonstrated your prowess unarmed. Now let us see how well you fight with a blade."

And with that, one of the Jem'Hadar that had regained consciousness gingerly tossed his First a wicked-looking halberd-sword known as a Kar'takin. He caught it reflexively and twirled it around, judging its weight and balance. He nodded in acceptance.

The other Jem'Hadar then offered the marine one as well. He declined, then limped over to the weapon pile and retrieved his own. Drawing it from its sheath, Dhrakin couldn't help but be mesmerized by its design.

Observing it closely, he examined the metal, taking in its curvature, eyeing its exoticness. It seemed capable of cutting through steel itself without taking any damage in return. Dhrakin decided to be weary of the weapon.

Giving it a few twirls of his own, most likely stretching out his own muscles and becoming more limber, the marine took his position.

"This is the final match between the Stellar Marine Major Rondexus Stoppable and First Omet'Iklan, Honored Elder of the Dominion," Sey'lena announced. "The rules are the same, fight until you can't fight anymore, but do not kill each other. Both of you are far too valuable."

"Prepare yourself, marine. I find you a worthy opponent, and will give you my all," Omet'Iklan stated, his quiet tone sending shivers down Dhrakin neck.

The marine nodded in response.

"Begin!"

"Victory is life," the First whispered, before moving forward to test the marine's defenses.

Immediately, the First brought his weapon down in a series of combinations, trusting on his fresh strength and weakened opponent to thrust said opponent on the defensive.

Once again it works, though Dhrakin isn't sure whether the marine is testing his adversary or if the fatigue is finally catching up to him. Reason or not, the marine gives ground, intercepting or deflecting the strikes against him.

Omet'Iklan doesn't let up. The Kar'takin is a brutal weapon. Should its opponent not have the necessary strength to resist, the wielder could cleave the opponent in two. It is not elegant like the marine's sword, whose owner seems to use it to dance around his opponent, deflecting and sending Omet'Iklan's slashes through open air.

He was clearly though still on the defensive.

A moment arrives though, where Omet'Iklan over reaches a downward arc, and receives a fist and backhand to the face, knocking him on the ground.

The gong sounds, and the fight resumes.

Omet'Iklan moves forward again, swinging and slashing. This time, the marine misses a deflection, and his arm is cut. Distracted, the marine cannot defend against the First's elbow thrust which throws him on the ground.

The gong sounds, and the fight resumes.

Back and forth, the duel continues. Blades are crossed and blows are exchanged. Though tired and nearing exhaustion, the marine continues to hold defend and deflect the attacks, trading ground for space, and slowly inflict enough head wounds to disorient his opponent.

All the while, he attempts to fend off the arm shattering slashes of the mini-halberd, enduring the numerous wounds that his body has received, and trying to remain conscious despite the staggering blood loss.

The gongs have been rung by both sides.

Five minutes in, both started to become sloppy, their swings carried less force, their deflections held less grace, and their injuries become less superficial. Both are tired beyond comprehending, and seem to be using most of their strength just to remain standing. Blows are now rare in occurrence.

So it was expected that the end was extremely anti-climatic. Omet'Iklan gave a half-hearted swing. The marine, using the last of his strength, ducked under it, maneuvered behind him, and nerved-pinched the exhausted Jem'Hadar into unconsciousness.

The marine joined him shortly after.

The silence of the party observing seemed to last for ages.

Until Weyoun started laughing.

"Oh how delightful. It seems the Jem'Hadar have finally gotten their wish. An opponent to truly test their mettle. I must congratulate you, my dear. That was an excellent bought of combat, really, a truly remarkable force of arms, worthy of those songs those Klingons are so fond of. Oh, the Founders were right to fear the Federation. Looks like we're going to have to accelerate our plans after all.

"But first, my dear, you should have your man treated. After all, if we're going to have any hope of subduing the Federation as quickly and as painlessly as possibly, we're going to need your voice, and who more better to safeguard it than the Federation itself. Oh the ideas. It's so exciting!"

Knowing how much his mistress cared about the marine, Dhrakin was surprised that she didn't immediately send Weyoun off to an early grave. The irony of the situation was that his guard was currently incapacitated.

What she did instead was to run towards her slave and used what strength she had to roll him off the unconscious Omet'Iklan. She then quickly checked his pulse. After locating one, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she been holding. It was quickly followed by a gasp of emotion and shuddering of her shoulders as she attempted to hold in the tears that threaten to escape.

Thankfully, Weyoun was too far in his own discussion with his Vorta counterpart to pay proper attention.

Grasping the moment, Dhrakin quickly moved over to his mistress's side. "Sey'lena pull yourself together," he whispered, "we're almost out of this. I'll get him fixed up. You focus on getting rid of our damn guests."

Pulling herself together always impressed the Bolian. One moment she about ready to fall apart at the sight of her broken marine. The next moment, her face was back to indifference and mild amusement. Shaking her head clear, Dhrakin accepted she was ready to make the final step.

Then Dhrakin felt an iron grip on his arm that threatened to cut off circulation. Suddenly his mistress was right above him whispering menacingly into his ear. "If he dies, you die. Understood?"

Dhrakin nodded, his own body now shaking.

"Use the damn Denobulan doctor if you have to, but you will save his life, or forsake your own."

He nodded again, the grip was released.

Dhrakin then signaled to the two Orionisi brutes who were still standing and staring around aimlessly, to assist. They both picked up the marines body and made their way to exit.

Just as he was about to exit the door and temporary freedom, a dreaded voice made itself known again.

"Ah Dhrakin, what's the hurry? I thought you would want to be here to witness a momentous occasion that's going to affect the status quo of the Omicron Sector for generations," Weyoun's cheery voice rang out.

Groaning at his misfortune, the Bolian turned around. "I was going to go tend to the marine's wounds. After all, there aren't any real capable doctors aboard," he bluffed.

Weyoun waived away the concern. "Oh nonsense. He'll be fine. Superficial at worst. Nothing that a good sleep will cure. Besides, this will affect you as well as the Syndicate."

Filled with worry at the increasingly cheery tone of the Vorta, Dhrakin skulked back into the room, waving off the two Orions to continue their task.

"Great! Now, here's what we're going to do…"

 _A/N: One last closure scene with the crew of the Jackal, then on to ACT IV_

 _Stay tuned._


End file.
